


Cupid Kills With Traps

by Dopamineandducks



Series: The Wonderful Alternate Universe of Thor [2]
Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drama onstage and offstage!, F/M, Feels, Hm feels kinda tropey but THATS OKAY!, Shakespeare, Theatre, Thor is an awesome brother....well that's debatable, theatre kids rock!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4137816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dopamineandducks/pseuds/Dopamineandducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An injury benches Sif for the remainder of soccer season. Desperate for something to fill her time, she follows Thor's advice to audition for Asgard Academy's fall production of Much Ado About Nothing. Much to her dismay, her endeavors to find an alternative extracurricular has landed her in the territory of the school's chief thespian: Loki Odinson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am the Queen of Run-On Sentences! Forgive typos and possible tense-shifts as well--I studied psych, not English. I assure you, they're not intentional and I edited the ones I caught. 
> 
> Thank you for your kindness! You're lovely!

It was supposed to be an easy game. Vanaheim Prep didn’t exactly have the most coordinated girls’ soccer team and Asgard Academy has been state champs five years running. They were supposed to show up, run around for ninety minutes and leave the Falcons’ stadium burning behind them as was Viking protocol. The last thing Sif expected was for a gutsy defender to summon the nerve to tackle her. The event as a whole was rather fuzzy now, but Sif vividly remembered her lower leg sliding inward to the left but her thigh and upper body falling to the right. A horrifying sensation of her tibia stretching away from her femur and her kneecap slipping around followed the impact. Sif screamed as she hit the turf and stayed there.

And so marked the end of her senior year of soccer and possible scholarships she was too dependent on. Only two games into the season and it was over. Yeah, she knew there was the possibility of injury while playing contact sports, but that was supposed to happen to _other_ players—players who weren’t as fast or as technical as she was. But here she was on a Saturday afternoon: sitting on the couch binging on _Arrow_ with her impaction facture, avulsion fracture and damaged MCL. Her leg was elevated and numb from the ice pack that had begun to melt and soak her sweatpants. She was hardly paying attention to the TV anymore. Instead she stared blankly at the screen and marinated in feelings of self-pity, resentment and boredom.

As the weeks went by, the pain receded and she was able to ditch her crutches, but the coach refused to admit her back to the team. When Sif demanded to know why, the coach cited Sif’s inability to climb stairs without swearing or run without crying. Her doctor also refused to sign off on Sif’s requests to get back into sports until the orthopedic surgeon had a chance to look at her ligaments. If her MCL were to incur any more stress, it could tear and the likelihood for another dislocation would skyrocket further.

The worst of her problems though—beyond missing her senior year of soccer, not lettering like she dreamed she would, and watching all of her team mates carry themselves to the playoffs without her, proving that they were doing  _just fine_ without her—was her absolute boredom. No more practices, scrimmages, games or post game pig-outs at the nearest Denny’s. She had _nothing_ now. Fall was her best friends’ busiest time of year as most were on the football team and had other extracurriculars going on. Sif had soccer.

 _Had_.

God, that was the most depressing word.

One day at lunch, Thor noticed Sif’s lack of energy. She seemed to be cloaked in a veil of gray and the life had been sucked from her olivine eyes. The food on her tray had been hardly touched, which was abnormal for Sif as she was usually always eating something. It was particularly startling as Asgard Academy’s fare was phenomenal. Since the school was funded by tuition paid from the money-lined pockets of the area’s highest-brow elite, the cafeteria was catered with excellent gourmet food. Sif had maybe two bites of her shrimp scampi.

“How’s your knee feeling, Sif,” Thor asked as he decimated his potatoes to a mashier consistency.

Sif started out of her daze. “It’s fine.”

“Any word on when you can get back to the field?”

She threw him an icy glare before she could stop herself. Thor took the hint and went back to shoveling food into his mouth. Sif sighed and pushed a shrimp around with her fork. “I won’t be. Doctor’s orders.”

Thor frowned, his blue eyes reflecting the genuine sympathy from his heart. “I’m sorry, Sif. I didn’t know that.”

She shrugged and tried to act like it didn’t bother her anymore. She failed miserably due to the quivering of her lip and her eyes watering. She slammed her fork down, ceasing Hogun’s and Fandral’s conversation, and quickly ran out of the cafeteria. The halls were deserted save for a few small groups of less prominent kids who found sanctuary in the quiet outside the cafeteria’s cacophony. Refusing to succumb to emotion publicly, she found refuge in the bathroom and calmed herself down there. She splashed cold water on her face to tame the blotchiness of her cheeks only to have her mascara run.

“Great,” she grumbled, “Now I’m really emo.”

The bell rang marking the end of lunch. Soon the bathroom would be filled with gossipy girls touching up their overkill makeup. That was the very _last_ thing Sif wanted to be around. Quickly, she wiped her face with paper towels and left. Thor was waiting for her in the hallway looking ever empathetic. This time, she couldn’t help but smile. He was a good friend, more than she thought she deserved given her hot temper, and she was grateful for him.

“Soooo, I didn’t do my homework,” he said suddenly as they ambled through the hall to class.

Sif rolled her eyes. “What do you want me to do about it?”

An innocent grin with just a dash of mischief danced on his lips. Sif knew Loki had a hand in crafting that smile. But unlike Loki’s mischievous smirks, Thor still appeared to be trustworthy. “Wanna ditch?”

She smiled and nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was sit through another ninety minute hell that was precalc, a class primarily comprised of underclassmen smart enough to jump ahead. Sif felt endlessly stupid sitting among the juniors and even some sophomores breezing through the problems while Sif longed for the days when math had numbers, not squiggles. Yes, skipping class with Thor sounded like something she needed to do.

They walked casually out to the parking lot without being stopped by teachers. The trick was to be confident, Loki told them. Administration get suspicious when kids get twitchy when leaving school without a pass. However, if you look like you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing, even if it’s the exact opposite, they’ll succeed every time.

They jumped in Thor’s orange X6 and cruised around town. After an afternoon of devouring a giant sheet of Rice Krispie Treats and Slurpees from 7-11, they headed back to school so Thor could get to practice. Kids were funneling out of the ivy covered building to either drive their ridiculous luxury cars home  
or to lounge beneath the changing trees and chat. There were never buses at Asgard Academy, something that always threw Sif off. Unlike the rest of the student body, her parents weren’t obnoxiously wealthy. Her dad was doing the best he could as a state representative and her mother was a music teacher. She spent most of her life riding the sweaty yellow bus to the best public schools taxes could pay for. It wasn’t until she became close friends with Thor Odinson, whose father was one of the shrewdest businessmen in the world and who was not seeking presidential nomination only because he was born on foreign soil, that she was able to attend Asgard Academy. He insisted to his parents that Sif’s presence in his classes would inspire him to study hard, get good grades and make his parents proud in general, so they sponsored Sif and paid her tuition.

Sif found herself occasionally missing public school. She loved the simplicity of going to school with normal kids ( _plebeians_ , as Loki said) and she still had a few friends there, though they rarely talked anymore, but her home was Asgard Academy. She, Thor, Hogun and Fandral were inseparable and she wouldn’t trade their bond for anything.

“Are you feeling any better, Sif,” Thor asked as they walked back towards the front lawn of the school. He threw his duffle and helmet on the ground as they sat on a bench.

She nodded. “I just wish I wasn’t so bored,” she sighed heavily, throwing her head back dramatically. “I have no life outside of soccer. Everyone is busy and I’m just here getting fat and depressed that Oliver Queen doesn’t love me.”

Thor stared, slightly horrified. “I don’t think you've ever said anything like that in all the years I’ve known you. Since when do you need a man to love?”

“Not so much to love as to bang mercilessly,” she grinned wolfishly.

Thor shuddered. “I don’t need those images, thank you Sif.”

She sat up and glared. “Hey, you and Fandral talk about your fuck wish-lists all the time yet it’s indecent for me to talk about mine? Hypocrite.”

Thor took the high road, not wanting to go down Feminist Road with She-Ra. “Why don’t you audition for the play,” he asked hoping she’d take the topic change as a peace offering instead of a brush off.

Sif couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you serious? Me? In a play?”

Thor shrugged. “It’s something to do. Loki said they’re still trying to fill parts, so they’ll probably take you.”

“As if I couldn’t get in on my own merits, but only out of desperation?”

Thor gave a frustrated sigh. “It has nothing to do with that, Sif. Stop looking for reasons to be offended!”

“I don’t look for reasons to be offended!”

He shook his head and stood up. “Whatever, Sif, just think about it. I have to get to practice.” With that, he scooped up his equipment and joined Hogun and Fandral as they headed towards the football stadium. Sif sat alone with Thor’s words buzzing in her skull. Sif was no thespian: she preferred to spend her time living life instead of playing pretend. As of this moment, though, her life seemed to come to a halt. She no longer had her usual routine of workout, practice, dominate, sleep, repeat. Now she was going through the motions of a gray existence while everyone enjoyed their colorful life. Maybe trying something new would be good for her spirits. Her mom did say she needed to expand her horizons beyond soccer otherwise she’d be considered an “uncultured meathead.”

But if she did decide to audition for the play and get a part, she’d have to deal with one person she disliked the most: Loki Odinson. She bristled at his very name. Thor’s little brother had always been, well, a legendary prick to her and her friends. She learned to hate his sharp smirks and mercurial moods and having to do anything in cooperation with him was almost too disgusting to handle. But who’s to say they’d even have to work together? They may not have to interact at all if their roles didn’t interact. And since when did Loki Fucking Odinson stop Sif from doing what she wanted?

With mind made up, Sif marched towards the theatre like a Storm Trooper and scrawled her name down on the sign-in sheet. She had just settled in to her seat in the cool auditorium to watch the experienced actors warm up with tongue twisters and stretches when she realized what she was doing. Loki was among the kids on stage, looking like a black mamba slithering like silk across the stage. He was smiling and laughing, but Sif knew he was faking it. Loki was never grinning unless he had a more insidious thought driving it.

A girl with gorgeous blonde hair—Amora?—whispered something in Loki’s ear and nodded towards the audience. Like a whip, Loki’s head snapped towards the house and locked eyes with Sif. Her gut squeezed tightly as he walked towards the end of the stage, a devilish smirk appearing on his lips. She steeled herself: she will _not_ be intimidated. The way he seemed to glide across the stage and the steadiness of his gaze unnerved her.

He stopped at the edge of the stage, hands on his narrow hips, and grinned. “Hello, Sif.”

Her gut flopped. Yeah…she knew this would be a bad idea.


	2. Chapter 2

“I must say, Sif, this is the last place I ever dreamed to see you.” Loki was smug as he stared her down. His oily voice had no problem sailing over the noise around them. “Do you mean to tell me you’re going to audition for our little show?”

Her cheeks flushed red. _Not_ intimidated! “Fuck off, Loki.”

He furrowed his brow and placed a hand to his ear. “What was that? I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you. You need to project, darling, or you’ll never succeed within these walls.”

The blood in her veins came to a rapid boiled point. _“_ Do _not_ call me ‘darling!’”

Loki repeated the gesture of not hearing her and fell back among the crowd. Amora threw Sif a dirty look. Sif waved sweetly, a gesture which apparently pissed the blonde bombshell off further. The scowl she threw back at Sif was ugly and intensified by the stage lights.

She started to have second thoughts. Loki was bad enough, but she had experience in dealing with him. Amora, though…Amora was a different bitch-storm entirely. Loki was relatively harmless. He was all words and his pranks, though thoroughly infuriating, were purely for his own amusement and didn’t typically involve public humilation. The mercurial Amora, on the other hand, was more insidious if crossed. Sif had no desire to deal with that.

The drama teacher, Ms. Njordottir, entered the room with a flourish, clapping her to rouse attention. “Alright, it’s 4 P.M.! Circle up for warm ups! Loki, lead them.” Sif was surprised to learn that there were warm-ups in theatre. She assumed actors just started acting. It just barely reminded her of sports.

As inconspicuously as possible, Sif quietly collected her backpack and started to make for the exit. This. This whole thing was a bad idea. She felt it in her gut. There was no way she was going to deal with Amora, Loki, stage fright, bright lights, line memorization, or anything besides dribbling a ball. She was out.

She was halfway up the aisle when Loki noticed her. “Sif! This stage is this way!” She whirled around. Part of her was surprised Loki could produce a sound powerful enough to fill the auditorium. Everyone on stage was staring at her as they performed their stretches. She felt exposed under their gaze. “If you could just join us up here, we can get on with warm ups.”

She threw her backpack over her shoulder. “No, it’s okay. Just go on without me.”

Loki’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Sif sighed. “I changed my mind,” she yelled louder. “Go on without me!”

“She’s afraid, Loki,” Amora laughed. Her voice was just as strong as Loki’s and filled every corner of the space. “She doesn’t belong here.”

Loki shot her an annoyed look. Sif clenched her jaw. Before her brain had a chance to stop her, Sif stormed back down the aisle towards the stage while glaring Amora down. She refused to flinch at the pain in her knee as she marched up the steps, threw her bag down on the stage, and immediately began to stretch her triceps. Her eyes never once left Amora. Students whispered and uttered soft “ooohs.” Loki looked as amused as the rest. Amora, however, was furious. Her face contorted to one of outrage and loathing. Sif lifted her chin and raised an eyebrow, challenging Amora to her next move. The blonde opened her mouth to speak, but Loki spoke first.

“Let’s do some tongue twisters to loosen the jaw and practice articulation,” he said. “Repeat after me: imagine managing an imaginary menagerie!” The group parroted the tongue twister to varying degrees of success. Sif and Amora eventually broke their stand-off and participated as Loki instructed them through impossible tongue twisters and bizarre theatre games. After ten minutes of Sif feeling completely ridiculous, Ms. Njordottir took center stage.

“Thank you, Loki,” she gave him a nod, which he returned, and addressed the rest of students. “Thank you all for coming out to our second round of auditions. If you weren’t here last time, that’s okay. My name is Ms. Njordottir, but you may call me Freya. In fact, I prefer it!” She explained the rundown for the evening. Essentially, Freya intended to throw parts at people, give them a few minutes to work through the scene, have them perform it on stage, then mix the parts up again until she was satisfied. Sif checked her watch. It sounded like it was going to be a tedious evening…

 

***

Sif was annoyed. She was annoyed, exhausted, frustrated, and, though she’d deny it, embarrassed. It probably would have served her well to find out exactly _which_ play she was auditioning for before she barreled headfirst into this clusterfuck. But, no. She didn’t. As a result, she spent the last three hours of her life humiliating herself as she attempted to read _Much Ado About Nothing_ out loud. She already had difficulty reading Shakespeare in her head, but was a god damned train wreck when she vocalized it. She stumbled over awkward syntax, got confused about how to read line breaks, and had no frickin’ clue what the hell she was saying. She felt like she was back in first grade: holding the script close to her face, as if that would assist her in any way, and was practically sounding out words.

In front of everybody.

She never wanted to die so much in her life.

As if things couldn’t get worse, Amora and Loki were pros. They must have gone to Shakespeare camp or were Elizabethan actors in a past life, because they read their lines like the ABCs. According to the other students, it was expected that they would be casted for Benedick and Beatrice. Apparently, Loki and Amora usually played leading roles. The rest of the students auditioned with a certainty of snagging a supporting character. Some of the kids were bothered by this. Sif was not. A small role (if any role at all) would mean little to no engagement with the King and Queen of Drama and minimize her stage time. She had no desire to play a main role.

“Alright, we’re almost done for the night,” Freya said once Loki and Amora finished their scene. Sif hated to admit it, but their piece was wonderful. Loki and Amora were fantastic actors and somehow created an intense scene with only three minutes of practice. She felt rotten to admit she was impressed. “Sif.”

She straightened in her chair, slightly startled. “Yes?”

Freya leafed through some papers on the messy desk set up in the middle of the audience. “Would you please read for Beatrice? Loki, stay on stage and read Benedick, please.”

Sif took the script excerpts from Freya as she headed to the stage. Amora just barely missed brushing Sif’s shoulder as she headed to a seat in the audience. Sif didn’t dignify her with a glare. She passed a copy to Loki and quickly glanced over her lines. She had already read the scene with another guy earlier. Luckily, it was an easy scene to understand: Beatrice and Benedick realize they love each other and Beatrice tells Benedick to kill his best friend. Simple enough. Sif thought it was a ridiculous scene, but at least there were no crazy sentences to battle through. Still, she felt nervous standing in front of everyone, but mostly she felt embarrassed for having to read this scene with Loki. Worse yet, he was giving her one of his twisted, sadistic smirks as if he knew full well the degree of her discomfort.

Freya clapped. “Whenever you’re ready!”

Loki gave Sif a questioning look as if to ask if she was ready. The moment she nodded, Loki’s face seemed to change completely and he marched towards her. Sif felt alarmed. “By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me,” he boomed.

Sif’s skin prickled, momentarily forgetting that it wasn’t actually Loki accusing her. “Do not swear, and eat it!” Her voice was shaky and unsure, but she managed to sound somewhat biting.

He grabbed her hand and pulled it towards his chest as he delivered his next line. Sif tried not to be impressed by him, but she was and that made her angry. Loki was rarely better than her at anything. She was far too tenacious and competitive to be beaten by anyone, let alone Thor’s rotten little brother. This was another one of those moments she refused to be outshined by him. She pretended she knew what she was doing and fired lines back at him, taking cues from his emotion to adjust her own. Before she knew it, the scene was over. Trembles racked her body and her chest heaved from the adrenaline. She blinked several times as if she were coming back to her own body. She stole a glance at Loki who was staring at her with excited eyes.

“Thank you,” Freya said in sing-song. She stood awkwardly between a theatre seat and her desk. “That’ll be all for tonight! I will have the casting posted by lunch time tomorrow! Have a good night!”

The students began to file out of the theatre, Sif along with them. It was dark outside, but the stadium lights by the football field cut through darkness like glaring knives. She debated waiting for Thor, but decided she’d much rather go home and watch _Arrow_ with a big bowl of ramen. She pressed the button on her car FOB to find where she parked and headed for her car.

“Hey, Sif!”

She bit the inside of her cheek as she turned to see Loki approach. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she saw his leather motorcycle jacket. Sometimes, it was painfully obvious how hard he tried to be a “bad boy.” She turned back around and continued on her way. “What do you want, Loki?”

“A little more respect from you. All I want is to have a pleasant conversation with my dear friend Sif and I’m greeted with poor manners,” he said. His long stride caught up with hers easily. “But then again, what can one expect from the plebeian class?”

She came to a sudden stop and got in his face. “Do you have something important to say, Odinson,” she growled.

Her reaction only pleased him. “I like to think everything I say is important.”

Sif ripped open the door to her Honda Civic and climbed in. She was not in the mood for Loki any longer. “Goodbye,” she said as she reached for the door. Loki, however, jumped in the way. He propped the door open with his body and braced his arm against the hood of her car. “Knock it off, Loki!”

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your first theatrical experience,” he said around a grin. “I didn’t think you had the chops.”

She sneered. “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m sure I won’t be getting a part at all. Let me go.”

Loki shrugged and gazed towards the football field. “You were good.”

Sif barked a laugh. “That’s a lie.”

“A good liar makes a wonderful actor.” He turned back to her and nodded towards her leg. “How’s your knee?”

“Fine,” she answered curtly. “Now, get away from my car before I make you.”

“Ever a lady,” he chuckled as he backed away. Sif slammed the door shut and turned the keys in the ignition. Loki shoved his hands into his pockets, smirking gleefully as she backed out of her space. “See you at rehearsal!”

“Wouldn’t count on it,” she hollered out the window. She threw the gear in drive and sped out of the parking lot, leaving Loki in her metaphorical cloud of dust.

 

***

 

The world stopped. It came to a screeching halt. Hell, too, was probably deploying plows to clear the sulfur streets from snow at this very minute. Life didn’t make sense.

 

Cast List

**Benedick:** Loki Odinson; understudy Einar Anders

 **Beatrice:** Sif Tyrdottir; understudy Amora Enchante

 

The cast list taped to Freya’s door was leering at her. Smirking maliciously like a demented clown from Cirque du Hell. Sif was dumbstruck. An epoch or two had passed before Sif’s mind began to work again. This new information passed from her frontal cortex to her limbic brain where she immediately started to feel panicky. A few other students patted her on the shoulder, simultaneously congratulating her and warning her about Amora. She would doubtlessly be furious.

Loki seemed to materialize out of thin air behind her. “Well now,” he said, “Imagine that.”

“How did this happen,” she asked, feeling very much like a zombie.

A sharp grin cut Loki’s lips. “I told you, you were good.” He chuckled and patted her shoulder as he turned to leave. “Oh, this will be _fun_.”

Sif was growing increasingly aware of one thing as the black-and-white cosmic joker stared her down. Every thought, every feeling that she had inside her bubbled and swirled in a funnel and drained to one certainty….

…She was going to hurl.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments, kudos, and the one bookmark (I LOVE YOU PERSON) drive me to write on! I mean, the deed'll get done either way, but I'm a whore for positive-reinforcement. So thanks for being lovely enablers. <3
> 
> ENJOY.

“So you got the lead, eh?” Fandral found this news to be the greatest thing ever. He had been poking at her, and attempting to speak in Elizabethan English at her since she approached him, Thor, and Hogun, pale faced, and told them the news. Hogun more or less shrugged, Fandral laughed at the idea, and Thor was overjoyed, saying he was proud of her and that he would be in the front row opening night.

“Yep,” she said. She pushed her fingers through her hair, and worked out a tangle. “I think I’m going to tell Freya I pass. I’m not up for a leading role.”

“Especially opposite Loki,” Fandral muttered. Thor shot him a look, which Fandral shrugged off.

“Are you sure, Sif,” Thor asked. “You decided to do this because you were bored.”

She sighed. Frustration and resentment towards the defender who ruined her knee bubbled inside her. “I can’t play Beatrice,” she said with finality. “I don’t get Shakespeare in class. How am I supposed to act it?”

“Loki could help you,” Thor said. “He’s in the play with you, after all.”

Sif tensed. “No offense, Thor, but you’re brother is an asshole, and would probably make fun of me.” Fandral and Hogun nodded in agreement.

“He’s not that bad, guys!”

“Remember when he put Kraft Mac & Cheese powder in our protein drinks,” Hogun said.

“Or when he put blue food coloring in your toothbrush,” Fandral was quick to add.

“Or how about when he _shaved my head_ _in my sleep_ ,” Sif growled. The middle school memory burned her still. It was then that Sif began to utterly despise Loki. Sif and Thor were having a campout behind Thor’s house, and Little Brother Loki was not invited. To avenge his hurt feelings, Loki stole Odin’s electric razor with intention of shaving them both bald. However, Loki thought they would sleep through the attack, but Sif awoke after shaving off one side. She screamed in horror when she saw her hair fall from her scalp to her sleeping bag. That was probably the only time Thor actually beat up his little brother. Of course, now it was considered trendy to shave off the side of one’s head. Go figure.

“Okay, okay,” Thor sighed, “Point taken. So you’re going to quit?”

She tensed again. She hated that word— _haaaated_ that word. “No, I’m just changing my mind. People can change their mind.”

Thor shrugged. “Whatever you want, Sif.”

 

***

Though she marched like a soldier, head held high with confidence as she made her way to Freya’s office, she felt like a slinking dog. Sif was not the kind to abandon anything. She was persistent to a fault. She never let tasks go unfinished, obligations unfulfilled, or projects half-assed. It could be said she didn’t know when to just let something go, but Sif didn’t see why she should ever give up on something if she had the will to finish it. Perhaps that was her military upbringing. Her father, being a high ranking officer in the army, was the same way during his active duty years and instilled his values into his daughter. Now, she was throwing in the towel before even getting wet. It felt so wrong.

Sif was so wrapped up in her thoughts, that she wasn’t paying attention when she turned the corner and collided head first into Amora. Upon realizing it was Sif, Amora’s face darkened. Sif swore she heard a rattlesnake somewhere in the hall. “You,” Amora said vehemently.

“Amora,” Sif said evenly.

“Who do you think you are,” Amora growled, advancing on her. Sif had to give her credit: she didn’t take Amora for a directly confrontational kind of girl. She pegged her for more of the relational-gossipy-emotional vampire sort.

Sif stood her ground. “What do you want, Amora?”

“I want to know why you think you can just flounce into _my_ realm and steal _my_ part.”

Sif smirked. “The thing is, I didn’t think I could, but Freya obviously thinks I can. Sooo….”

“Listen, Tyrdottir,” she barked, “If you think you can have Thor _and_ Loki wrapped around your disgusting little finger, you have another thing coming at you. You _can’t_ have them both.“

Her patience was rapidly decreasing, and her fist desperately wanted to kiss Amora’s blush-caked cheeks. “Get out of my face, Amora, or I swear to God, I’ll—”

“You’ll what,” Amora challenged. “Tell Thor? Will he get his parents to take care of this for you?” She snorted, “You shouldn’t have gotten Beatrice. You shouldn’t even _be_ here.”

Sif’s bicep flexed. “I’m warning you—”

“What,” she goaded, “What are you going to do? Hit me? Go ahead. I dare you.”

“Amora—”

“You don’t have the balls.”

“I swear—”

“Put up or shut up, little girl!”

Sif’s nails bit into her palm as she heaved her fist up and…

Freya stepped out of her office. “What’s going on out here?”

An electric silence answered. Sif hesitated and stayed her arm, returning it stiffly to her side. She felt like a dragon, flames spewing from her nostrils as she huffed.

“Nothing,” Amora said tightly, her eyes poison.

Freya was not fooled. “It doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’” She eyed Amora before turning to Sif. “Is everything okay?”

Sif felt like a nuclear warhead. “Yeah,” she managed to peel her eyes away from Amora, and stepped away. “I just came by to tell you I accept my part. Thank you for casting me.” Amora guffawed.

Freya seemed to understand the exchange now. “No need to thank me. I think you’ll be a good Beatrice. Won’t she, Amora?” She gave the blonde a pointed look. Amora said nothing, and instead continued to seethe. It appeared as if she were ready to explode, too. “Well, I’ll see you both at rehearsal. Get to class now ladies.”

Sif turned over her shoulder to walk away, but stopped when Amora’s pincer-like grip seized her wrist. “I’ll make you regret this, Sif,” she said in a low, menacing voice. “Stay away from Loki.”

Her tone probably would have scared the shit out of anyone else, but Sif was not one so easily intimidated. She was Teflon and Amora was a Nerf gun. “I’d like to see you try.” She ripped her arm away so fiercely that it knocked Amora off balance. She smirked, feeling victorious, and walked away with her head held high. Yeah, she realized she just officially signed on for what was probably going to be the worst experience of her high school career, but she had no other choice. It was either swallow her pride, or surrender this apparently cherished prize to the Wicked Bitch of Every Cardinal Direction. She especially didn’t like the way she spoke of Thor and Loki. She had a sense of what she was implying, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Her residual anger kept her strong the rest of the school day, but by the time she was sitting down for dinner, the gravity of her decision sunk in. It was a rare night that her father was able to join them, and her mother liked to make a big deal out of it when he was able: table set properly, no TV on, proper family conversation, the whole nuclear family shebang. Her parents chatted idly about possible house projects until her mother noticed how quiet she was. “Are you alright, Sif,” she asked.

“I got cast in the school play,” she said.

A pleased expression bloomed like a lily on her face. Being a music teacher who once dreamed of being a professional performer, Sif’s mother was very into the arts. She had even been accepted to Julliard for her MFA, but got pregnant with Sif’s older brother, Heimdal, instead. Her mother made it clear to Sif during “The Talk” that she was _very_ pro pill AND condom. “Oh? What did you get?”

“Beatrice in _Much Ado About Nothing._ ”

She reacted as if Sif just announced her engagement. “Did you,” she gushed. “Oh, that’s a wonderful role, sweetheart! Shakespeare! How fantastic! _”_

Sif glanced at her father who seemed to not know how to react. He was the exact opposite of her mother. Growing up, he was the typical meathead jock who wrestled and played football, and went on to a rigid military career. His world was concrete and physical, and Sif was very much his daughter. He looked at her, raising one bushy black eyebrow on his creased forehead. Sif wasn’t offended. She understood his meaning. She simply shrugged, and he nodded. Nothing else needed to be said between them.

“Who’s playing Benedick,” her mother asked excitedly. She was like a child on Christmas morning.

Sif took a breath. “Loki Odinson.”

And suddenly Christmas was over. Her mother furrowed her brow and blinked a few times. “Oh dear, really?”

“What’s wrong with that,” her father asked. Being the busy man that he was, he was hardly aware of Loki’s reputation as a pain in the ass. All he knew was Loki’s last name.

“Thor’s little brother,” Sif explained, “The biggest dick to ever spawn in the gutter.”

“Language, Sif,” her mother reprimanded. Her father made an understanding grunt and shoveled more food into his mouth. “Well, Sif,” her mother continued, “Maybe you can use this to your advantage. Benedick and Beatrice started off hating each other: you can use that for your acting.”

Sif shrugged. “I guess so.”

A sly, teasing grin appeared on her mother’s lips. “Who knows, you may end up just like your characters and falling in love!”

Sif nearly wretched. “That’s not even funny, Mom. Loki is an asshole, and it’ll be a miracle if we both get through this without killing each other.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. Sif was really getting annoyed with her high pitched teasing. “The leading man _always_ falls for his leading lady.”

Sif refused to take the bait. She excused herself from the table and went to her room. A copy of the script was tossed on her bed beside the rest of her homework. Begrudgingly, she picked up her script and flipped to a random page.

“’Yea,’” she read aloud, “’Just so much as you take upon a knife’s point, and choke a daw withal…’ what the _fuck?_ ” She slumped down in her bed and flung herself back. The textured ceiling began to make nonsensical patterns as she abandoned the task of blinking and stared numbly. Tonight was the last night of self-pity, she resolved. It wasn’t in her to regret her decisions. Rehearsals started the next day and she needed to be prepared. She was a warrior: she made challenges her bitch. This was no different from a soccer or softball game: this was just a different kind of war, and Sif would rise and meet it.

***

Sif knew she would be stepping into a different world when she accepted her role, but she didn’t fully understand how bizarre theatre kids were. The warm ups reminded Sif of kindergarten. They rolled their tongues, scream like police sirens, and play the most ridiculous improv games. The craziest part was that everyone took these silly games seriously. Yet at the same time they were okay with making complete asses of themselves.

Even Loki appeared to be having the time of his life when they played a game called “I Feel the Spirit.” It was a game in which someone stood in the middle of a circle, professed to claim they “feel the spirit” in a certain body part, to which the rest of the circle repeated it, and everyone then shook said body part. Sif swore she was standing in on some weird Southern Baptist Hokey-Pokey session. She had a hard time loosening up and “letting go,” as Freya would say, but she just couldn’t scream “Yes, I feel the spirit in my pelvis!” like one of those pastors on late night TV, and then proceed to shake her crotch towards the middle of the circle.

For the first two weeks, rehearsals consisted mostly of sitting in a circle on stage, reading the play out loud, discussing the Hell out of it, and reading it again. Sif felt loads better when she realized a lot of the other students had difficulty reading their lines out loud as well. Everyone except for Loki stumbled frequently. Thankfully, Amora didn’t attend “table work.” She wouldn’t be required until they began the blocking process, so in case anything happened to Sif, Amora would know the choreography.

She didn’t see much of Amora after their confrontation. Luckily, Amora was in a grade below her, and wasn’t smart enough to take senior classes. However, she did see her in the hall occasionally, more times than not clinging to Loki in one fashion or another. She shuddered at the idea of them dating, and wondered what kind of dramatic Hell it would be if they ever got together.

Sif walked to her car after rehearsal one night, avoiding the ASB plastering glittery homecoming signs as best as she could. She knew most of the student government, and had to say she had little taste for them. They were, to put it bluntly, the richest snobs of a school full of rich snobs. They liked Sif for her “edge,” an insulting term they used to describe her coming from a neighborhood that didn’t have a Mercedes in every driveway. The ASB President, Astrid, was always trying to get Sif to join student government, claiming that her brazen personality would capture the student body’s attention. Sif wanted to gag her.

When she got to the parking lot, she saw Loki leaning against her car, and fiddling with his phone. She groaned and wondered what the hell she was in store for.

“What do you want, Loki,” she asked as she approached.

“What took you so long,” he asked, without looking up from his phone. “You left before I did and I got here before you.”

“I took the long way around,” she said, rather irate that he was checking in on her. “Not that it’s any of your business. Why are you here?”

He still didn’t look up from his phone. “My car’s in the shop, so I’m waiting for Mr. Brawny to finish practice.”

“No, why are you _here_ leaning against my car?”

He was silent a moment as his thumb worked maniacally across his screen. He then pocketed it and finally looked at her. “We need to read lines together.”

Sif blinked. “We have.”

“Yeah, during rehearsal, but _we,”_ he gestured towards the two of them with his hand, “Haven’t done so independently.”

Her lip curled. “Do we have to?”

A look glimmered on Loki’s face, but vanished quickly. “Yes.”

“Why? We’re doing just fine, aren’t we?” Loki shrugged, glanced towards the football field, and then checked his phone. He stared at it blankly before his thumb went to work again. The back of Sif’s neck tightened with annoyance. “Are you going to talk to me or text?”

“Both,” he murmured as he finished his message and pocketed his phone again. “And yes, we are doing ‘fine,’ but Asgard Academy’s theatre department doesn’t settle for ‘fine.’ We need to be flawless.”

“We just started rehearsals,” she couldn’t help but think Loki was taking this way too seriously. “We don’t open until November.”

“We’re a high quality, fierce machine, Sif,” Loki said firmly. His eyes burned intensely as if Sif were mocking his child. “You need to keep up, or step down now, because we don’t suffer amateurs.”

Granted, she was about as inexperienced as one could get, but she still felt insulted by being called an amateur. “Chill out, Loki, it’s just a—”

“No, you get a clue, Sif,” he said. She blinked, surprised by the aggressiveness of his voice and the fire in his eyes. “Would you tolerate a nervous, sloppy player on your soccer squad?”

“That’s completely differ—”

“No, it’s not!” He pushed himself away from the car. Apparently, he had one crazy growth spurt over the summer, for now he was looming a good six inches over Sif when she swore he was shorter. “You’re in theatre now, Sif, and we don’t tolerate weak links. We need to read lines and figure this out as soon as possible so we have as much time as possible to try out ideas, and determine what works and what doesn’t.”

Sif was silent. She hated this aggressive, demanding Loki more than the obnoxious, immature prankster she knew him as. Part of her wanted to fall into rank and listen to his authority (damn military parents!), but the rest of her raged against the whelp who thought he could boss her around. “You’re an ass,” she said lamely. Loki looked unimpressed; perhaps even embarrassed for her. He didn’t say anything, though. He continued to stare at Sif, awaiting her answer. She hated the feeling within her, but she conceded. Her father taught her to pick her battles, and though Loki was her daily enemy, he was an ally in this war. She flexed and extended her fingers. “Fine.”

Loki leaned back. Apparently he had actually been looming over her. “Good,” the lightness was back in his voice and he returned to leaning against her car. “Free tonight?”

Sif balked. “Tonight?”

There was that amused, terrorist smirk. “Better sooner than later, right? Besides, I don’t want to wait for Thor anymore.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Not tonight.”

He shrugged. “Tomorrow, then.”

Sif drew a deep breath, reminding herself this was necessary to her goal. He could even help her with delivery and other pointers to make her seem not so amateurish. This was a _good_ thing, despite what her marrow was telling her. “Tomorrow is fine.”

“Excellent! Five o’clock then?”. Sif nodded and shoved her hands in her pocket to stop from hitting him. He looked down at his phone, probably reading a text, then glanced up at her beneath his long lashes. Sif stiffened as Loki flashed her what he probably thought was a dashing, panty-soaking smolder. “Now, could I trouble you for a lift home?”

Sif grimaced and hit him with her backpack. “Get off my car! Fucking asshole.” Cackling in amusement, Loki removed himself from her car door, and walked backwards towards the stadium. “See you tomorrow, Siffy!”

Every motor neuron in her body was prepared to engage in battle. She _loathed_ that name. Fandral thought he could get away with calling her that once when he was pouting, and she swiftly and mercilessly corrected that assumption. Loki took the name and ran with it, much to Sif’s chagrin. She punched him once after he called her that in front of Balder, whom she had a mild crush on at the time, promptly ending the life of that nickname. Apparently, Loki was bringing it back. So she responded how any reasonable person would when called a despised nickname…

She yelled and flipped him off.

He responded by simply nodding his head with a devious smirk, as if he was some sexy-cool-guy-wannabe, and turned his back to her as he continued his way to the stadium. Furious, Sif threw her backpack in her car, sat down, and smacked the wheel with her hands. Maybe she was overreacting, but Loki knew _exactly_ how to wiggle beneath her skin, and suck her blood like a leech. She turned on her stereo and blasted Halestorm as loud as she could on her way home. She needed the fierce strength of Lzzy Hale to get her through the molten hell she volunteered for.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my ggooooooddddd, you guys. You know what dopamine is? It's this kickass chemical that makes you feel freakin' awesome, man (unless you have abnormally large amounts of it. Then you may have schizophrenia). Every time you guys give me a kudos, or drop a comment, I get such a rush! Y'all spoil me. I love you, honestly.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoy reading your comments. :))) <3
> 
> P.S. I'm tickled pink that Sif watches shows based off the DC-verse. That may be tooting my own horn, but it's true. I find it hilarious. #Ipromiseiamreallynotthatconceited.

She could see his silhouette through the privacy glass of her front door. Her body felt like lead as she trudged to let him inside. This was her sanctuary, and she was protective of it. She hardly let Thor or her other friends in her house. She preferred to socialize outside of her home, and keep her house her safe place, free of social contaminants and stains. Now, she was letting Loki, Prince of Assholery inside. It felt akin to intentionally splattering black ink on white carpet.

“Is it a habit of yours to keep people waiting,” Loki asked once she opened the door.

Oh, it was so hard to not slam it back in his face. “No, just you,” she answered icily.

He smirked and stepped inside. “Fortunately for me, I enjoy delayed gratification. It makes the prize much sweeter.”

Sif swung the door shut, and bit back the urge to taunt him about entering her house being a sweet prize. It would only encourage him, and she was sure he would say something that would just infuriate her further. So, the high road it was.

She led him through the house, feeling rather wary when she noticed him eyeing every inch of it. Thor never seemed to care about brand names or design, which is part of why Sif liked him so much. Loki, on the other hand, was a notorious label-whore and snob. Tension started to build in her body as she wondered what judgments he was making about her not-Chanel home.

“We’ll practice in the basement,” Sif said as they came to a door beside a wall of family pictures. Sif blushed as his eyes scanned over them. She prayed he didn’t see her second grade class photo, which her mother refused to take down. Something told her that her lopsided pigtails, owl-eye glasses, pink overalls, and floral turtleneck were easy points of focus for Loki’s harassment.

“Promise you won’t murder me down here,” he said.

Sif rolled her eyes and threw the door open. “Just go.”

“Me first? So you can push me?” There was a loud clamor in the kitchen followed by maniacal laughter. Loki couldn’t have looked more disturbed if an inside-out body just crawled out of the basement. She wondered if this was his first experience in a middle class neighborhood. “What was _that_?”

Sif sighed, searching herself for patience, only not for Loki. “My dad, probably.”

Loki tilted his head. All he asked was: “Why?”

She felt her face flush from embarrassment. “He’s just weird. Come on.” Her urgency made Loki go without further guff. Swiftly, she shut the door and followed him down into their finished basement. The basement was her family’s main entertaining space. Her dad hired contractors to turn their creepy, German-dungeon basement into a modern entertainment haven a few years ago. It was possibly the crown jewel of the house, besides maybe the pizza oven Sif’s father constructed on the back deck. The basement wasn’t huge, but it was lux. It was complete with a bar and tap, a pool table, darts, and a bitchin’ 80 inch curved screen TV that boasted surround sound, and circled by the comfiest couches ever stuffed. It was her dad’s baby, and Sif’s favorite place to watch _Arrow_ and the rest of her shows.

Loki seemed at least somewhat impressed. “Shall we begin?”

 

***

An hour and a half into practice, Sif was positive—completely, thoroughly, spiritually, doubtlessly positive—that accepting her role was a huge mistake. Loki was intense, relentless, and annoyingly good at both acting _and_ teaching. His notes made sense and his tips were helpful, but there was a disconnect between understanding the concepts Loki was trying to teach, and then enacting them. No matter how hard she tried, it always sounded like Sif was “reading” lines instead of “living” the lines. Regardless of how she inflected her speech, she sounded forced and unnatural. Even when she got used to the language, she just couldn’t sound like a normal human being.

“It comes with practice,” Loki assured as he lounged back in a large chair. “You’ve actually gotten better.”

Sif’s head hurt. Frustration festered in every fiber of her body. “This was a bad idea.”

“You can always back out,” Loki offered levelly.

Sif glared and prepared to give him an earful, but they were interrupted by her father storming down the steps, cackling to himself. Loki lifted an eyebrow in question. “Sif,” her dad said once he got to the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing a stained apron over a light gray button up. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, making his forearms look beefier than they already were. “Are you guys going to be eating here?”

Sif hesitated. She didn’t even consider feeding Loki. It seemed like something friends would do, and he was certainly not a friend. However, it seemed like something she _should_ do. “I suppose,” she said as she glanced at Loki. He sat forward and gave her a little nod.

“Great,” her dad said, “The pizza oven is roaring and dying to bake some pies. You like pizza, uh…”

“Loki,” he said, “And yes.” Somehow, liking pizza made Loki seem more human to Sif.

“What do you like on it?”

“Pretty much everything except pepperoni and sausage,” he answered.

Sif’s dad clucked. “Not a fan of the greasy meats?”

Loki offered an apologetic smile. “Not entirely.”

He shrugged. “Garbage pizza is still a good choice.” Loki tilted his head in confusion, but instead of elaborating, he glanced at Sif. “Usual for you, little lady?” Once she nodded and thanked him, he clapped his hands together again and hustled up the stairs, whooping some Italian song about pizza. When the basement door clicked shut, Loki threw Sif a questioning look.

“He… _really_ likes pizza,” she said, not being able to suppress the smile growing on her face.

“No kidding.”

She nodded and laughed a little. “Yeah, he was stationed in Napoli when he was in the army and fell in love with authentic pizza. He even built a traditional pizza oven outside. He literally makes pizza every time Mom leaves him in charge for dinner.”

“The Stern General Tyr: decorated army veteran, state representative, and pizza enthusiast,” Loki chuckled. Sif was relieved that it sounded good-natured rather than contemptuous. “I guess we all have our quirks.”

She nodded in agreement. Her father’s fascination (obsession is more accurate) with pizza still puzzled her. It was odd to see a towering building of a man with a grim face and steely eyes go absolutely gaga for pizza. The man looked like he could break a linebacker by flexing his pinky, but turned into the biggest dork when pizza was brought up in conversation. Sif used to find it embarrassing, but now found it endearing.

Loki shifted focus back to the task at hand. Sif mentally groaned. She was _so_ done with Mr. Shakespeare tonight. Though she had read the play a million times by now, she still needed No Fear Shakespeare to hold her hand through most of the script. She couldn’t very well do that in front of Loki. He’d probably keel over.

However, Loki didn’t pick up the script again. Instead, he explained simple acting theories to Sif, which, to be honest, were just as confusing. He spoke nonsense about head, heart, and/or groin characters (what the fuck?), sense memory, inhabiting an imaginary body, speaking lines from chakras, and other bullshit. She stared at him, eyes like glazed Krispy Kremes, and wondered if he actually thought she was retaining any of this. Sif was about to tell him to shut up, but her father reappeared, bringing with him a cloud of heavenly aromas.

“Come and get it, come and _get it,_ ” he said passionately. He placed two stone slabs down on the granite counter of the bar. As if by reflex, Sif and Loki floated over to the steaming pies. A cartoon finger of steam may as well have tickled their nose and enticed them forward. The pizzas looked phenomenal. The fluffy, crispy, and slightly charred crusts were littered with toppings; one speckled generously with spinach, sun dried tomatoes, feta, garlic, and pepperoni, and the other pizza had a medley of fresh vegetables dumped on top of it.

Her dad was proud. “One warrior pizza with extra garlic for the lady, and one garbage pizza for the boy.” He took a moment to deeply inhale the smell. “My greatest creations thus far.”

“Besides me of course, right,” Sif asked as she passed him a giant pizza cutter. No one was allowed to slice the pizza except for him. It was some cardinal sin punishable by Hell if anyone else dared to do it.

He cut through the pizza like a warrior would fell a foe. “Sorry, little lady, but my pizzas could be tribute to gods. Besides, they don’t talk back like unruly teenagers.” He winked at her, smiling despite his comments. Sif rolled her eyes and passed Loki a plate from the cabinet. Her dad chuckled as if his point was aptly made. “By the way,” he said, turning towards Loki and sticking his beefy hand out, “I’m Tyr, Sif’s father, if you haven’t already gathered.”

Loki nodded cordially and grasped his hand. “I did gather. Pleasure to meet you, sir.” His lip twitched only slightly from Tyr’s crushing grip. He then scooped himself a slice of the dubbed “garbage pizza” and took a bite. Sif smirked on her father’s behalf when Loki closed his eyes involuntarily and savored the bite. Tyr noticed as well headed towards the stairs in satisfaction. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to your acting and what not. Enjoy the pizza.”

They greedily loaded their plates and headed back to the couches to feast. It wasn’t an exaggeration when Sif said her father made pizza every time dinner was left in his charge. Maybe every now and then he branched out and made calzones, but they didn’t have the same heart in it. Even though pizza was more common in her diet than water, Sif never grew tired of it. Her father was truly a master pizza artisan.

“What do you think,” she asked Loki when she realized they hadn’t spoken since Tyr left.

He took his time chewing and swallowed. “Good god,” was all he said.

She laughed and helped herself to another slice of the warrior pizza, which Tyr had named for her. “So tell me, Odinson,” she said after another bite, “What is your quirk?”

He finished his slice and lay back in the chair, “Isn’t it obvious?” Sif scrunched her brow, at which Loki smirked. “I’m ridiculously charming.”

She groaned. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He attempted another one of his poor excuses for a smolder. Sif didn’t hesitate to gag. Instead of being insulted, he chuckled. “Tell me, Sif,” he said, fixing his eyes on her, “Why did you decide to give this little theatre ride a whirl?”

She took a bite of her pizza and shrugged. “I needed to occupy my time with something other than Netflix,” she said.

“But theatre? You could have done yearbook, ASB, and I’m confident in saying debate team is right up your alley.”

“I don’t like scrapbooking, fuck the ASB, and I’m not very eloquent in speech.” Loki nodded at her last point. She glared at him, but continued. “I don’t know. It was Thor’s idea, really. He said I should try it. My mom also has a degree in theatre, so I figured, ‘Why not?’”

Loki continued to look at her blankly. His eyes revealed he was thinking something, but Sif didn’t have the faintest idea of what that could be. “And here you are.”

She nodded. “Here I am.”

“What do you think?”

She didn’t answer right away. Not because she was hesitant to tell Loki it sucked balls, but she wasn’t sure if it did. Theatre was a strange, new world, and Sif was unsure of it in the beginning. Yet there was something about the world that was welcoming—accepting, even. Even though she still felt like an outsider, she was beginning to wonder if that was her own doing. Her cast mates liked her well enough. Or at least they seemed to. Sigyn, the girl who was casted as Hero, was very sweet and always asked Sif how her day was going. No big deal, right? Well, Sigyn actually listened. There was also Einar, who was Loki’s understudy and also played Conrad, who had a humor similar to Sif. They would share candy and make jokes together whenever they had rehearsal scheduled together. Sif was beginning to make friends outside of sports for the first time, and she found them so fascinating. The rest of theatre, though…The memorizing, the acting, the nerves, the vulnerability…She could do without that.

“It’s different,” she offered lamely, unable to find a different word to summarize her feelings. “The whole acting thing is weird. I haven’t gotten used to that, but I love the people. At least, except for Amora.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “No, you two don’t seem to get along, do you?”

Just the thought of Amora filled Sif with such rage that she felt like a dam about to burst. “She’s a _bitch_. If she doesn’t stop her shit, I swear to every god in history I’m going to punch her the fuck out of her.”

An unexpected tense silence followed, and sat on Sif’s shoulders like a barbell. She was keenly aware of the pensive look on Loki’s face. It was suddenly very uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat in attempt to ease herself.

It then dawned on her that Amora and Loki were friends. She felt stupid, and surprisingly, rude. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have cared if she had insulted Amora to anyone else, but to defame her in front of her friend seemed so wrong. “I’m sorry,” she said. Ugh, she hated apologizing, but it sucked even more to apologize for trash talking Amora to Loki. “I forgot you guys are friends.”

“Dating, actually.”

 _SCREEEEECH_. That was the sound of the world stopping frantically to search for a priest to receive the Last Rites. Loki and Amora? King Asshole and Queen Needs a Kick In the Vag united as one power-hungry unit? Jesus, Sif should have seen that one coming. Didn’t she have that exact thought when she saw them in the hallways? Any humanity Loki may have earned during the course of the night suddenly spoiled.

“Oh,” was all she could say.

Loki shrugged to his credit. Or discredit: shouldn’t he be defending the girl he supposedly had feelings for? “I know she can leave a bad taste in one’s mouth.”

Sif saw the opportunity and couldn’t let it go. “Much like you.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he gave her a look that made her feel profoundly wrong. Not just wrong for having said that, but wrong as in, “What human being would have a thought like that?” It wasn’t even that bad of a comment, yet she felt guilty. She felt like a child experiencing rejection from a classmate for the first time. His look at rendered her speechless, and she hoped she camouflaged her shame well enough.

Loki sighed and stood shaking his head. “I think tonight is over.”

 _Well, thank fucking God_ , she thought as she stood to walk him to the door. He left without so much as a final tip, homework assignment, or even snarky comment. Closing the door softly behind her, she plodded back down the stairs to clean up their mess. Shame blossomed from a festering seed into a poisonous vine, and wrapped around her body like a python.

Tonight, Sif was the asshole, not Loki. That was a realization that burned her even more. To have sunk as low as Loki was sickening. That was not Sif. Sif wasn’t a talker. She usually kept her mouth shut to avoid drama, and now she risked starting shit with Fucking Amora Enchante. Bravo, Sif, bravo.

She finished cleaning off the pizza stones and sealing them with some weird-ass oil her father purchased from Italy, and headed up to her room. The instances in which Loki insulted Sif were uncountable. Since she and Thor had become friends, Loki was always there to pick on her insecurities or make a cutting quip. She would have thought that finally managing to cut him for a change would be satisfying, but it made her feel black inside.

Sighing, she plopped down on her bed, and turned her little TV on. Though a new episode of _Gotham_ was on, she found she was unable to pay attention to the badassness of Fish Mooney. Instead, she was thinking of ways to apologize to Loki without seeming like a shamed dog.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on updating so soon, but this fic is insanely fun to write. So, hurr you go!

“Does it hurt when I do this?”

“No.”

“What about this?”

“Nope.”

“And this?”

“Nah uh.”

“And this.”

“Yesyesyes. Oh my god, yes.”

When Dr. Abrahamsson was finished palpating Sif’s knee and wiggling Sif’s patella around like a joystick, she wheeled away from the examination table where Sif sat to her desk. “How is it feeling overall,” she asked as she searched through her computer.

“Better, I think,” Sif answered.

“On a scale from one to ten, how was it before, and how is it now?”

Sif sighed. She hated subjective questions.“Maybe an eight down to a four or five?”

The doctor nodded and opened a file containing Sif’s recent X-Ray and MRI. She observed the MRI sequences a couple of times, uttering soft “hmms” every so often. Sif felt like she sat on pins and needles as she waited for the verdict. “It’s looking pretty good,” the doctor said finally as she spun around in her little wheely stool. “It’s healing the way it should: no abnormalities in the way your avulsion fracture is reattaching itself and your MCL appears to be healing right on schedule. Doesn’t look like you’ll be needing surgery.”

Her mother sighed in relief. “That’s wonderful.”

Dr. Abrahamsson nodded. “You’ll still have to take it easy. Keep wearing your brace, and take ibuprofen and ice your knee when it gets swollen. Based on the palpation evaluation, your joint is still unstable, but it’s getting there.”

“Will I be better in time for softball practice in January?”

“If you take care of your knee, and don’t push it, you’ll probably be fine.”

Sif didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she finally released her sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“I’ll put a referral in for physical therapy. You’ll have to call the appointment line in two days to set that up. Besides that, you’re good to go!” Sif strapped on her brace, and eased herself off the table before she put her soccer sweats on over her shorts. She thanked the doctor and left the office with her mother.

On the drive home, Sif mostly stared out the window. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was already beginning its descent behind the horizon. The world looked like treasure: the colorful trees glowed like gold and the fading blue sky looked like sapphires. This was definitely Sif’s most favorite time of year. After soccer practices in October, Sif and her teammates would gaggle down to the closest Starbucks and engorge themselves on Pumpkin Spice Lattes, apple cider, and bricks of pumpkin bread. She got a text from one of her friends on the team inviting her out for their cherished tradition, but Sif couldn’t do it. She was on the outside: the bond had already been forged for the season, and Sif knew very well she wouldn’t be in it any longer.

It depressed her profoundly.

“So that’s good news about your knee,” her mother said to attempt conversation, “At least you’ll be playing softball this year!”

Sif grunted.

“I’m sorry about soccer, honey,” she sighed. “I know how much it meant to you.”

Rather than responding, Sif chose to rest her head against the chilled window, and watch the gully on the side of the freeway woosh by. A pumpkin patch was visible in the distance. Tiny specks of people were exploring the patch in search for their annual jack-o-lanterns. She smiled at the memory of her own pumpkin carving days. Her mom would make grilled cheese sandwiches while her dad helped Sif prepare the pumpkin. He used to terrify Sif by screaming every time he plunged the knife into the pumpkin, as if the pumpkin could feel pain. He would laugh while Sif yelled at him to stop hurting the pumpkin. Only when she was close to tears did he cease wailing bloody murder, and let Sif draw her desired face for the pumpkin.

They pulled up to Sif’s school about twenty minutes later. Sif tried to get her mom to just excuse her for the day, but she was a stickler for education. The entire purpose of scheduling appointments in the morning was so that Sif could at least get a half day of school. Her mom, however, got to cancel all of her classes and lessons for the day, robbing her students of their education. The hypocrisy of adults.

“I’ll pick you up after rehearsal,” she called out the window. Sif didn’t bother to turn around, and waved her arm to signal she heard. Baring all the weight in her good knee, she slowly climbed the stairs to the school and made her way to the commons. She whipped her phone out of her pocket to check for any messages, but had none. She fired off a quick text to Thor, begging him to ditch class with her, but never got an answer. It was just after eleven, so he had probably fallen asleep in his literature class. Sighing, she figured she’d roam the halls until lunch.

“Sif,” a voice called as she meandered aimlessly. She flinched at the sound of the voice, and acted like she didn’t hear anything. “Sif, _HELLO!?”_ God damnit, that was too loud to ignore. She wished she had put her headphones in. Slowly she turned around to see a pretty girl, with a pretty heart shaped face, pretty blonde hair immaculately styled, and wearing pretty outfit flounce up to her. Fucking Astrid…

“What’s up,” Sif asked mildly. She didn’t miss Astrid eyeing her sweats and hoodie. She practically lit up with fascination.

“What are you doing out of class,” she asked. She spoke in that kind of tone some girls speak in that sounds almost completely vapid, but not entirely because the girl is actually smart, but, for some reason, chooses to ignore it to seem “more approachable.” That’s what Astrid sounded like, and Sif wanted to shake her.

“I had an appointment.”

“Ooohh, for your knee. Everything okay?”

She nodded and repeated: “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you were coming to my Halloween party.” Astrid pulled out a flier (she _actually_ had a flier for her party) from her bag.

Sif took it, but didn’t look at it. “You should,” she whined, “It’ll be totally fun: super Gatsby, only with costumes.”

It’s references like _The Great Gatsby_ that assured Sif that Astrid was intelligent. She tried to hide it behind Glamour magazines, designer makeup, and hairspray, but she had these moments that indicated her mind thirsted for more. Sif didn’t have anything against Astrid’s choice of expression, but couldn’t figure out why she chose to neglect her brain.

“Maybe,” was all Sif said.

Astrid pouted. “But you won’t have soccer the day after this time. You _have_ to come! Please!”

“Maybe,” she repeated firmly, though she felt a tug on her heartstrings. She couldn’t help but feel flattered that Astrid wanted her company so much. “I usually do something with Thor and the guys on Halloween.”

That seemed to please her. Perhaps the prospect of having the richest kid in school attend her soiree overjoyed her. She left to continue posting fliers for upcoming school events, and left Sif to her wanderings.

***

Rehearsals later that day were very exhausting for Sif. Despite the good news about her knee earlier that morning, she considered her mood to be busted and had troubles connecting with her character and her cast mates. None more so than Loki, who didn’t even go through his pre-rehearsal routine by finding some way of annoying Sif. Instead, he sat in the audience and chatted with Amora until Freya forced him on stage to lead warm ups. He didn’t seem angry with Sif, just indifferent. It was an odd feeling. In the time she had known Loki, never once did he pass up an opportunity to greet her, or, more accurately, tease her. It was strange, but she supposed she didn’t mind too much.

It was also their first attempt to do a complete run-through of the play from start to finish. They didn’t manage to finish, due to the constant stopping to reblock the scene, or to fix the tone. A lot of the attention was placed on her: What is Beatrice feeling, Sif? What does she want? What is your relationship with Hero? Can you portray that? What should you do: move forward, away, or stay for these lines? By the end of it all, Sif just wanted to scream.

After her hell had ended, she grabbed her backpack that she had discarded in the audience. She firmly refused Einar’s invitation to go over to his house to watch a movie (he had recently begun flirting hardcore with her, and not taking the hint she wasn’t interested; thus making their friendship really weird and uncomfortable), and left the auditorium. Her mom was parked out front waiting for her. As she made her way to the car, she caught sight of Loki in the corner of her eye. He was talking to Amora, and then bent down to kiss her. She quickly averted her eyes, feeling like she was intruding on a private moment for them, and an awkward moment for her.

When they had finally separated and Amora drove off, Sif hobbled over as quickly as she could, gesturing to her mother that she wouldn’t take long. “Loki,” she called.

He turned around, and appeared mildly surprised. “What, my dear Lady Disdain,” he greeted with his familiar sarcasm, “Are you yet living?”

Sif couldn’t tell if he was being malicious, or just his usual unsettling self. “Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signor Loki?”

That seemed to make him smile. “Fair enough.”

Her thoughts failed her now as she thought of ways to bring up last night. She loathed being wrong, and she loathed apologizing even more. In reality, she probably didn’t have to as Loki didn’t appear to be angry, nor did he deserve it. For all the times he was an asshole to her, it was only karma that he suffered every now and then.

Pft, as if Loki suffered anything.

“I just wanted to say I hope I didn’t offend you last night,” she said as casually as she could manage. “You seemed pretty peeved when you left.”

However, it was well known at this point that Sif was not a great actress. A smirk resembling that of the Grinch curled his lips deviously. “Why, Sif,” he purred, “You don’t mean to tell me you’re sorry for hurting my feelings?”

Sif’s cheeks heated, but before she could defend herself, Loki cut her off.

“Oh Sif, you don’t have to worry about that,” he continued, “You see, I don’t have feelings to be hurt. And if I did, _you_ would be incapable of wounding them.”

She glared at him. “You’re such a dick.”

He folded his hands over her heart, threw her a mock pout, and began to lazily stroll away. “Farewell, Siffy.”

Fire stung in her shoulders. What she would give to throw rocks at him right now! She spun around too quickly as she felt the familiar, terrifying sensation of her knee losing stability. She stopped, making sure her brace was doing its job, and walked to her mother’s car.

She must have been watching the exchange, for she addressed Sif warily. “Is everything okay?”

“Just fine,” she snapped as she buckled in.

Her mother sighed, and drove off. The trip back home was quiet, save for the radio quietly filling the space. Sif boiled in her seat like a vat of mercury: hot and toxic. She couldn’t figure him out! Just when she thought there was hope of getting along with him, the raging jerk within Loki emerged like a cackling shithead. She had _no_ idea how he and Thor were related. He was the antithesis, the shadow, and the villain. It seemed like he wasn’t happy unless he was making someone uncomfortable. Fuck Loki. Fuck fucking Loki to fucking god damned hell.

When they pulled into the driveway, Sif slammed the car door, and stormed to the house. The blackness in her blood wanted nothing more than to destroy. Usually, Sif would have simply gone for a run to burn out her anger, but her stupid knee was broken, making that coping mechanism invalid, and her mood much, _much_ worse. However, when she opened the door, she was encountered with something she didn’t expect: the house smelled wonderful. Suddenly disarmed, Sif dropped her bag by the door, and ventured through the house to the kitchen.

A crock pot of homemade tomato soup was simmering away on the countertop beside three pumpkins; two large, and one small one. A loaf of challah bread and an array of cheeses were next to the griddle on the stove. Sif stared, completely dumbstruck. Her mother appeared behind her.

“You seemed a little down earlier today,” she said. The warmth in her voice was soothing. “I saw you looking at the pumpkin patch, and thought this would be nice.”

Sif’s chin quivered. In one fell swoop, the storm that had been raging inside of her transformed into a fullness of light. She felt overwhelmed, and simultaneously grateful and ungrateful for her mother. It wasn’t beyond Sif’s awareness that she could be a moody pain in the ass. The fact that her mother was understanding enough to soothe her instead of control her brought Sif to the verge of tears. She sniffed and turned around to hug her mother fiercely. Instantly, warm arms folded around Sif and cradled her head to her mother’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Her mother kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome, honey.”

Sif pulled away, leaving a black mascara smudge on her mother’s sweater. She apologized, but her mother shrugged it off. She stated it wasn’t the first time Sif had soiled her clothing, nor would it be the last. She walked past Sif to prepare the grilled cheese. Sif fell in line behind to help. It was one of those rare moments of peace. Since turning twelve, Sif found herself at odds with her parents more often than not. There were precious moments, though, where Sif wasn’t embarrassed, annoyed, or pissed off at them, and found herself thoroughly enjoying their company.

Her dad came home an hour later, thrilled to see pumpkins. He didn’t even change out of his suit to carve, only setting his blazer aside so it wouldn’t get sticky with pumpkin goop. As always, he screamed bloody murder as he cut into one of the large pumpkins. Sif couldn’t help but laugh, and followed suit as she cut into the other big one. Her mother rolled her eyes, calling them barbarians, as she carved her pumpkin in a civilized manner. Once they finished their masterpieces, they placed them on the porch outside: her father’s wild, crazy pumpkin, her mother’s small, smiling pumpkin, and her own scary pumpkin.

Later when she went to bed, her feelings of animosity were almost completely forgotten. She lay snug beneath her covers in an afterglow of complete bliss, the white Christmas lights strung on her ceiling shining like stars above her bed. The only way the night could have been better is if Heimdal were home. She missed her brother, and hoped he was safe on his tour in Iraq. It had been awhile since they received a letter from him, and she could only pray that nothing had befallen him.

Her eyes eventually fluttered shut, and the sound of the wind outside carried her off to a peaceful sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Liberal consumption alcohol and recreational drugs

“We should definitely go,” Fandral said as he leaned forward between the front seats of Thor’s X6. “I’m all over free candy and booze.

Sif sighed. This backfired pretty badly. She only brought up Astrid’s invitation out of guilt, and expected her friends to be against it. Though in hindsight, Sif didn’t know why she expected they wouldn’t want to go. They were in that age range that lived off rebellion and drinking and smoking and parties and blah blah blah. She, however, didn’t share their fascination with getting shitfaced just for the hell of it. She wondered if there was something wrong with her.

“Can’t we do something else,” she asked hopefully. She glanced in the rearview mirror in hopes Hogun would ally with her. But he didn’t. Damn passive Hogun.

“Like what? Order pizza and watch _The Exorcist_ ,” Fandral snorted, “We’re not thirteen anymore, Sif.”

“Come on, Sif,” Thor insisted. He shoved her playfully, which she didn’t appreciate. “It’ll be fun!”

She grumbled under her breath, and folded her arms like a petulant child. “It’s a costume party,” she said hoping that would change their minds.

Fandral grinned his charming little Englishman grin. “Even better!”

Nnnoooooo, this wasn’t working out the way she wanted to at all. She supposed she could just stay home while they went to the party, but even Sif occasionally suffered from the dreaded FOMO. True, she didn’t particularly _care_ for tropey, teenaged house parties, but she hated missing out on social gatherings even more. Yeah, she knew she was technically caving in to peer pressure, but whatever. She was seventeen. That’s what seventeen year olds do.

She resigned her protesting. “I have rehearsals that night,” she sighed, “I’ll meet you guys afterwards.”

Fandral looked positively giddy. “So, I’m thinking group costume?”

 

***

Halloween used to be a wonderful, magical, and spooky time in Sif’s life. She remembered being one giant muscle spasm from the moment she woke up on Halloween, until she was able to dawn her costume. Her father would, not surprisingly, make pizza and arrange the pepperoni (that’s all Sif liked when she was younger) like the face of a pumpkin. Her mother would then take countless photos of Sif hissing like a vampire, lurching like a zombie, or prowling like a witch. Then Heimdal would grab a pillowcase for himself, and walk her around the neighborhood for trick-or-treating. Those were innocent times…

Now Sif wondered if it was even possible to find a costume that didn’t make her look ready to film an illegal, underaged porno in some creepy dude’s basement. Sif perused Party City, Spirit!, and various sites online, and was so deeply enraged by the promiscuous cuts of clothing hardly qualifying as costumes. Fetish lingerie would have been more accurate. After ranting about her plight during rehearsal, Freya informed Sif of the company the theatre rented costumes from. Riding on the wings of optimism, Sif and her mother investigated, and wound up scoring a kickass Xena costume.

She was tempted to sleep in it.

Like in the days of her youth, Sif found herself itching for Halloween festivities throughout rehearsal. She felt a little self conscious as the rest of her cast mates were focused as ever, and didn’t seem to know that it was Halloween. Freya definitely didn’t seem to notice. If she did, she most certainly didn’t care. Time was quickly slipping through the cracks, and opening night was now only three weeks away. Sif thought they were doing well, but according to the more experienced actors, they were way behind from where they should be. Some actors (Sif being one of them) weren’t completely off-book yet and still called for lines, people were forgetting their blocking, and the play was running too long. All of these things were beyond Sif’s comprehension. She had nothing to compare it to, therefore assumed everything was fine.

Fortunately for Sif, she was not the target for the rehearsal. Most of the rehearsal was spent tweaking the wedding scene in which Claudio calls Hero a slut and refuses to marry her. Sif only had a few line during this scene, so she spent most of rehearsal observing and learning from her cast mates. She was very impressed by Sigyn’s acting. The small girl worked her part so well, Sif found herself almost in tears as Sigyn wept and denied Claudio’s accusations.

Instead of cutting rehearsal short like Sif desperately hoped, it ran a little longer than usual. She left the theatre with Sigyn, the two brainstorming possible ways to increase the appeal of their scenes together. As they made their way down to the parking lot, they noticed Loki and Amora standing by her car. It looked like they were fighting, or at the very least, having an intense discussion. Amora was gesticulating well within Loki’s personal space while he continually dragged his fingers through his hair. Sif wasn’t surprised about the squabble. Nothing about either of them predicted they could have a peaceful relationship; especially with each other.

“Now that’s a pairing I never expected,” Sigyn said, nodding at them.

“Really? They seem like their cut from the same bitchy cloth.”

Sigyn shook her head. “I don’t think they’re that bad,” she said. Sif snorted. “Loki feels a lot, so he hides a lot. That’s why I think he’s so good at acting, because he never really stops. And I think Amora has really bad parents. I don’t think she has guidance, so she’s just kinda lost and looking for attention.”

Sif was skeptical. She knew Loki way too well to be tricked by that high school psychology interpretation, and _no one_ was going to convince her that Amora was just misunderstood. “I doubt it. I’ve known Loki for awhile, and he’s always been an arrogant asshole. Besides, Amora already has attention from the entire student body because she’s conceited. If you ask me, they’re perfect for each other.”

Sigyn refused to concede. She shook her head vigorously. “No. I think they both need more than what the other can give.”

“What do you mean?”

Sigyn paused, thinking about her words. “Well, I’m not entirely sure about Amora, but I know Loki needs someone to lean on, and help him sort through his thoughts. At least that’s what it seemed like when I dated him.”

 _That_ surprised Sif. She was under the impression that no one in the right mind would ever date Loki. “You did?”

She nodded. “Yeah, most of freshman year. He just seemed super stressed all the time, like his head wouldn’t turn off. He was going through a tough time, and checked out. I had no idea how to help, and I don’t think he wanted me to, so we broke up.”

The sound of slamming car doors briefly interrupted their conversation. They looked up in time to see Amora’s Lexus RC 350 tear out of the parking lot. Sigyn and Sif exchanged glances. Apparently, whatever Loki and Amora had been discussing, didn’t end well. That, or they made up, figured out how to successfully administer road head to a woman driver, and peeled out of the parking lot out of pleasure induced lead-foot. But that was unlikely.

Sif shrugged, not really interested in the conversation anymore. “So, are you going to Astrid’s party?”

Sigyn shook her head. “No, I’m taking my little sisters trick-or-treating. We’re going as the Sanderson sisters.”

Sif laughed. “Nice. Well, I gotta go.”

Sigyn nodded, and suggested they should hang out sometime. Sif agreed. She enjoyed Sigyn’s relaxed demeanor. She would be a refreshing change from the rambunctiousness of Thor and the irritation that came with befriending mostly teenaged males. She drove home, quickly changed into her badass Xena costume, and headed to the party.

Astrid’s house was in the same neighborhood as Thor’s. Though, Sif wasn’t sure if it counted as a “neighborhood.” There was a gate marking the entrance, just like any other neighborhood, but all the houses were at least a mile apart and separated by thick throngs of pine trees. The homes in this neighborhood weren’t as much houses as they were freaking castles. Thor’s house, for instance, looked like an Italian villa collided with a glass Atlantis and plopped it in front of a lake. The other houses were the same in terms of grandeur, though varying in style. It was almost like driving through a fairy tale.

She found Astrid’s house before Siri stated she arrived at her destination. The courtyard of the house and a stretch of road beyond the driveway were packed with expensive cars. She could see lights flashing and people dancing through the front windows, and suddenly remembered she hated parties. Sighing, she checked the clock on her dash and saw it was 10:15. The party started a little more than an hour ago, and teenagers definitely weren’t the types to hold off on drinking. That meant most of them were already drunk, or well on their way, and Sif would be painfully sober. Not that she had a problem catching up, it just wasn’t as much fun getting drunk alone. When one is sober and surrounded by people who laughed at dumb stuff, did dumb stuff, and then puked everywhere, it was difficult to find the appeal of joining them. Oh well, at least she parked in the back so she wouldn’t get boxed in.

After hiding her purse in her trunk, she headed inside. The moment she walked through the door, she was assaulted by an expensive sound system blasting _Tik Tok_ throughout the houseand the over whelming odor of weed. It was rowdy, as she expected, and it looked like everyone had already drunk a liquor store. She was pleased to see that everyone was in costume, though. Part of her expected she’d live _Legally Blonde,_ and show up in an elaborate costume only to find everyone had skipped the idea.

She wiggled through the crowd in search of her friends, and grabbed a beer when she shimmied by the first cooler she came across. It didn’t take her long to find them—Thor’s booming voice could rival the most elaborate stereo even on a bad day. He and Hogun were holding their own in a game of beer pong, and Fandral was nowhere to be found. She squeezed herself through the throng of people to get to them.

“Sif!!!” Thor boomed, “You finally made it!”

Much to her delight, Thor and Hogun appeared to be relatively sober. They were both dressed up, Thor in a plaid shirt and jeans, and Hogun in a sharp black suit. Sif had no idea who they were supposed to be, nor did they know who she was. As it turned out, Thor’s half-assed costume was the Brawny guy. He even brought along a roll of Brawny Paper Towels to complete his ensemble. Hogun was supposed to be some bloke named Vincent Vega from _Pulp Fiction_. When Sif explained that she was Xena: Princess Warrior, they uttered a chorus of “oohhhs” as light bulbs turned on over their heads.

After a beer or two, Sif started to enjoy herself. She and Thor took on two of his teammates in a round of pong while Hogun sat to the side and watched. Apparently, football players were awful shots for Sif stayed sober through the game. Thor, however, didn’t give a damn and was drinking as often as he breathed. They claimed victory over their opponents, and looked for the next challenge.

Two people in costume approached them from across the room. One was a gorgeous woman in what looked like a nightie from the 1800s with cleavage that even Sif was jealous of. The other was a tall man in a billowing white shirt, black pants, and a white mask covering half of his face. It took her a minute to realize that it was Amora and Loki. She didn’t expect them to show up, at least not together based on the fit they had in the parking lot. Judging by the look on Loki’s face, he didn’t expect to show up either.

“Hi Thor,” Amora said, her eyes dark.

“Loki,” Thor bellowed and stumbled over to him, completely ignoring Amora. He practically fell into Loki’s arms. “I thought you weren’t coming!”

“I intended not to,” he said acidly.

Thor gestured to the pong table. “Play a round with us, Loki,” he slurred, “It can be you and me against Sif and Hogun! Brothers against the world!”

Loki threw Sif a concerned look over Thor’s shoulder. “How much has he drunk?”

“Enough that he should seriously consider buying stock in Corona and Smirnoff,” she answered.

Thor made some indignant comment, but then decided that Sif’s quip was a goal worth striving for. Sif found solace in the fact that Thor was the size of a tree, and would have to drink a prodigious amount of alcohol in order to OD. Hopefully, a blackout would be Thor’s worst fate.

“Loki,” Thor bellowed once more, “Play peer bong with us!”

Loki gave his brother an even look. “I have no desire to play ‘peer bong,’ Thor.”

Thor frowned like an aggravated puppy. “Yes, you do! You always want to play!”

“Well, I don’t want to tonight.”

“I’ll play,” Amora piped up. She stepped forward, and stood beside Thor. “We can be on a team.”

An mixture of delight, excitement, and devilish promise appeared on Thor’s face as he noticed her for the first time. “I’m okay with that,” he said. He put his arm around her shoulders, and gave her a firm hug. “I hope that’s okay, Loki.”

Sif saw every fiber in Loki’s body stiffen. His eyes hardened, and his lips pressed tightly together. “Of course,” he said thinly.

“Are you sure,” Thor rambled, “Because we can be on a team if you wish, brother.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Thor turned to Amora who had snaked her arm around his waist. “Would you like the first shot?”

A grin ten miles wide stretched on her mouth. “Thank you!”

Sif wasn’t sure if the tension she was starting to feel was all in her head, but she was sure Loki was radioactive at this point. She glanced at him warily, trying to figure out what was going on before she proceeded, not sure if Loki was seriously going to play at all. He took his eyes away from Thor and Amora long enough to give Sif a little nod. She shrugged, reracked the solo cups into a pyramid, and grabbed the ping-pong ball out of one of the cups. After dunking the ball into a cup of water on the side of the table, she lined up for the Eyes Shot against Amora.

Amora seemed both uncomfortably close, and impossibly far as they locked eyes. Heat passed between them. Sif saw in Amora a crooked glint—an air about her suggesting a victory to a war Sif wasn’t aware of. She narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the blonde starlet across from her. Amora’s eyes smirked, as if in challenge.

“Shoot already,” Thor said impatiently.

The two ignored him, waiting a beat more before they took their shot. Sif’s ball tipped the edge of a cup, and bounced away. Amora’s, however, sank in the middle cup. Fire swelled in Sif as Amora swirled around to Thor and hugged him, both whooping in victory. Loki practically pushed Sif aside as he stepped forward to bounce the ball back.

“A little fiery tonight, aren’t we Loki,” Thor laughed as he lined up his shot.

Sif barely heard over the music, but she swore she heard Loki mutter: “You’ve no idea.”

The game continued. Despite the dullness of the game—Thor being too drunk to be accurate, Sif having an off night, and Amora just being awful—the tension was thick enough to be served as a poisonous milkshake. Loki was the only one sinking balls with any consistency, putting them in an easy lead. Despite their obvious disadvantage, Amora and Thor didn’t appear to mind much. They made jokes, laughed, and drank even when not required. Soon, Amora was tipsy and almost as rowdy as Thor.

After a few rounds, Thor and Amora had drunk all but one cup, while Sif and Loki had only downed two. The buzz Sif felt was quickly vanishing while she watched the blatant flirting occur between Amora and Thor across the table. She stole glances at Loki to see how he was reacting, but his face remained hard and blank.

“Hogun,” Loki said before his turn, “Celebrity shot for me.”

Hogun nodded and switched places with Loki as he disappeared into the crowd. Amora and Thor didn’t seem to notice as they were busy dancing to _Bang Bang!_ by Jessie J. Sif frowned at Thor, completely annoyed with how he was acting towards his brother’s girlfriend. Hogun shot and sunk the ball. He moved aside to allow Sif to take her turn. Amora and Thor had finally turned their attention back to the game, and were attempting to distract her with lewd gestures and profane jokes. Fire burned too hot for her focus to be diverted. She pinched the ball between her thumb and finger, and lobbed the ball towards the cup. It swirled around the rim of the cup, prompting failed attempts to finger and blow the ball out by Thor and Amora, but the ball found its mark, and plopped into the liquid.

Amora pouted. “Rebuttal! Rebuttal!”

“Game is over, Amora,” Sif snapped. She glared at Thor who downed the cup greedily. Disgusted, she nudged Hogun, and left the table without another word.

“What was that,” she asked once they were in the next room.

Hogun shrugged, seemingly unsettled by their friend’s behavior as well. “Thor is Thor.”

“Yeah, but with _her?_ ” Sif was beside herself. “Even Thor has his limits.” She would be the first to admit her best friend wasn’t perfect. He happened to be a major ladies’ man, and while Thor wore the title with pride, Sif found it revolting. It wasn’t the first time Thor openly flirted with a girl already in a relationship. In fact, he had done much worse, once even receiving head from teammate’s girlfriend. Sif tried to get him to see what he was doing was wrong, but Thor shrugged it off. He claimed that if the girl’s relationship was healthy, she wouldn’t seek attention from him. Sif eventually assumed teaching Thor about loyalty was useless, but she thought he would at least have respect for Loki’s girlfriend.

“Hogun! Sif! There you guys are!”

She turned around, and felt startled to see the vigilante from _Arrow_ approach her. Once she got past the surprise, she placed the charming English accent. “Fandral,” she said as she pulled on his green hoodie, “This is awesome!”

He pulled his hood down, exposing his black and green smudged eyes, and flashed her a devilish grin. “I even did my makeup.”

“Very nice,” she laughed, “You’ll have to do mine sometime.”

He led them back to the den where he had been spending his night. She, Hogun, and Fandral chilled on the couch to chat and eat candy. A joint went around the room, and Sif, in the spirit of YOLO, tried a hit. She didn’t care for the smell, but didn’t complain about the fuzzies she felt in her head. Fandral took a deep drag, and held it in for a good ten seconds before slowly exhaling the smoke. She began to enjoy herself again as she relaxed with her two friends and a couple of amicable acquaintances.

“I’m sssoooooo hungry,” Fandral moaned. Obviously the munchies were setting in. “Sif, will you get some chips?”

“Do I look like your slave?”

Fandral took his time dragging his eyes over her leather skirt and bodice. Sif’s skin crawled. “Well, I’d like—”

“If you want to live, you will _not_ finish that sentence,” she snapped.

Fandral slumped over on her shoulder. “Chhhiiiiippppsss,” he whispered.

She pushed him back to his other side. “Get them yourself.”

Fandral more or less slumped on the arm of the couch. “Sif, my friend, I would, but you see I’m so blitzed I’m sure I will get lost before I get past the end table.”

Rolling her eyes, she stood from the couch, and drew a victory cry from Fandral. Before she lost her good feeling again, she stalked away from him in search of some food. Lady Gaga began to play through the speakers as she navigated through the crowd. While Sif prided herself on her tough veneer and strict “rock only” music policy, she loved _Poker Face,_ and wound up dance-walking into the kitchen while singing along under her breath.

A shock of lightning tore through her body at the sight that greeted her. In the otherwise empty kitchen, Thor had Amora pinned against the counter, Amora’s skirts rucked up around her waist, and Thor’s hips moving vigorously against her. Amora locked her ankles around his waist as their mouths frantically consumed each other. Horrifed, Sif jumped back out, and threw her back against the wall, breath caught in her chest, and every muscle tense. Eyes wide with shock, she searched the floor in hopes of finding clarity to the sight she had just seen.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been looking forward to writing this chapter since I started this piece. I really hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing/visualizing it. This on the longer side, and super dialogue heavy. Hey, I like dialogue :P
> 
> As always, thanks for the comments and kudos! Y'all fill me with warm fuzzies every time I get the alert. YAY EXTERNAL VALIDATION!
> 
> PS: TooLazytoLogin--I altered the tag as you suggested ;D You made a valid point.
> 
> Warning: Continued consumption of alcohol. Note that the author does *not* condone DUI.

As the initial shock began to wear off, anger took its place. Thor was already being a major dick by flirting and dancing with Amora in front of Loki, but he had officially barreled head first over the line of appropriateness. She had a mind to go in there, and beat some sense back into his drunken ass. She didn’t have any idea what she would do to Amora, though. There were no words, no actions that could satisfy the desire in her muscles to punish her.

She moved to enter the kitchen again, but stopped. Though she was seething, she wondered if there was more here. She _knew_ Thor. He could be an arrogant dickhead sometimes and cheat with girls in relationships, but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Thor loved his brother more than any promise of physical pleasure. Their bond ran deep, and he would never betray Loki. Maybe something happened to Amora’s and Loki’s relationship. They did fight after rehearsal earlier, and whenever she saw them in the hallway together, they were never holding hands or anything. Maybe they were back to being “friends” and Loki was just scorned? Either way, Thor’s actions were as low as one could get.

She turned away from the kitchen, figuring that telling Loki would be the best option. If he and Amora were still dating, and Amora was, in fact, cheating on him with Thor, then he had a right to know, and it would be his drama to sort out. Sif wouldn’t have to compromise her friendship with Thor by igniting an altercation that didn’t concern her. If they weren’t dating, however, then there would be no foul; besides Thor’s baffling need for instant gratification, of course.

She went looking for Loki, and after asking a fellow cast mate his whereabouts, she found him out back sitting by the fire pit. The cold air bit at Sif’s exposed skin, but she went out to see him anyway.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” she said, attempting to sound as friendly as possible. She couldn’t deny it felt unnatural.

He glanced up at her, eyebrow raised, apparently picking up on her weird vibe as well. He took a drink from a bottle of Modelo. “Did we win?”

She pulled a chair close to the fire and sat. “Yep. Hogun and I sank it in the last cup.”

He said nothing, and kept his gaze fixed on the dancing fire. Sif shifted under the weight of the information she intended to share. What if he already knew? She would just be reminding him of a pain he was already feeling. He would lob some insult at her for thinking he wouldn’t know what his girlfriend was up to, and wave her off like the elitist jackass he was. She was also beginning to feel like she would be betraying Thor for exposing him. Exposing what, though?—betraying his brother? She felt conflicted, and wasn’t sure what to do.

“Why are you out here,” she asked.

He closed his eyes. “The bass was giving me a headache.”

“Why don’t you leave then?”

“Amora drove.”

Another thick silence followed. She studied Loki in the flickering firelight. There was something written on his face that she couldn’t identify. It wasn’t troubled, nor was it pensive or blank. Maybe it was a blend of the three. She sighed. “I need to tell you something, Loki.”

He turned his head just enough to look at her. “What would that be?”

She paused, hoping she wasn’t dropping a warhead on him. “It’s about Amora and Thor….” She trailed off, carefully trying to figure out her wording. “I, uh, just saw them in the kitchen…” Loki continued to stare levelly at her, “…doing it.”

There was no change in his features—not even a twitch. “…Doing it? As in sex?”

“Yeah.”

He stared a moment longer before turning back to the fire. He took a drink from his beer. Sif sat on razor blades waiting for him to react. The breath stuck in her throat went stale. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

Sif was having exceptional difficulty reading him. “You guess?”

“It was just physical anyway.”

She blinked, and furrowed her brow. “What?”

“Amora and I,” he clarified, “Our relationship was just physical. Friends with benefits, and what not. Under no obligation to stay faithful.”

Relief washed over Sif like a cool mist. “Oh.”

A small smirk appeared on his mouth. “Were you trying to get Amora in trouble, or were you concerned for me?”

She saw the playfulness in his eyes, and couldn’t help but smile. “Like I’d ever give a damn about you, Odinson.”

He chuckled, and turned back to the fire. “So, you came out here just to tell me that?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sif sighed. “I’m kinda over the party now, though. It’s nice out here.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Not much of a partier.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You seemed like you were getting into it.”

“I mean they’re _okay_ ,” she said, “But they get annoying after awhile. It’s a little expected, isn’t it? Getting drunk and stoned at high school parties?”

He smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sif the Hipster…”

She threw him a nasty glare. “Oh shut up, King of the Drama Geeks.”

“I prefer ‘Your Majesty.’”

“Well, I don’t give a damn what you prefer,” she snapped. He made no rebuttal, and continued to stare at the fire. Sif became aware of a vibe rolling off him. She studied him closely, and though the fire illuminated his face, the light seemed to avoid him. There was a heaviness in his eyes that stilled her temper. Something doesn’t seem right. “Wanna get out of here?”

He glanced at her warily. “What?”

“Do you want to leave,” she repeated. “I’m over the party, and it looks like you are too, only you don’t have an escape route. I’ll take you.”

He made no signs of moving, but something in his demeanor changed. “Don’t trouble yourself.” He turned away, and glared sourly at the fire.

For the first time, frustration wasn’t her default reaction. Instead, she was concerned. Maybe it was the toxins she had been consuming all night, or the talk she had with Sigyn, but Sif was suddenly aware of Loki’s walls. He was clearly grappling inside, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Maybe there was a glimmer of truth to what Sigyn said. She never would have expected it, but it made Sif feel sad.

“Come on,” she ordered. She stood and swatted his arm. “Let’s go.”

Loki’s brow knitted. “Go where?”

“Just come on!” She was already on her way to the back gate when she realized he wasn’t following. She turned around to see him staring after her, a look of pure confusion etched on his face. “Let’s go!”

He was up in an instant, and followed her through the erratic parking lot that was Astrid’s driveway. “Are you sober enough to drive,” Loki asked.

Sif considered this a moment. She was feeling loose, maybe a little giggly, and it felt like her brain kept spinning when she turned her head, but she was cognizant and walking a straight line. “I’m not _un_ -sober enough to _not_ drive,” she answered. “Besides, I’ve probably had less than you.”

“Why do I feel like we’re going to be another statistic on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow,” Loki mumbled as Sif fumbled to find where she clipped her keys to her costume. She found them tied to a strap on her hip, and unlocked her car. “Where are we going,” he asked once they had buckled in.

Sif thought for a moment. She didn’t think that far ahead—damn intoxicants and impulses! However, after a brief pause, she figured out their destination. “You’ll see.” She threw the car in gear, and flipped a U-turn to exit the Fairy Tale Neighborhood.

The ride was somewhat uncomfortable. She had never hung out alone with Loki before. Their one-on-one rehearsals didn’t count, as they were working to accomplish a common goal. This, however, was social. She supposed she could use the play as a conversational resource if their interaction became too awkward, but it wouldn’t hold as the primary source of conversation: it was too thin, and too obvious. Only, she had no idea what to talk about with Loki. Thor was easy—she and Thor seemed to be of the same mind (save distasteful behavior), so everything came easy to them. Loki was a different beast entirely. For all she knew, he performed black magic or voodoo behind locked doors when he wasn’t rehearsing for a play.

In attempt to bury the weird silence, she dug her old iPhone out of her storage console, and plugged it in to her stereo. The world may as well have shattered when ear-shattering metal came ripping through speakers at full blast. Her hand shot out, and twisted the volume knob all the way down to zero. Loki looked like an alarmed cat as he stared at Sif.

“Sorry,” she muttered as she found a more pleasing volume for the music.

He rubbed the butt of his hand against his ear. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“I told you, you’ll see.”

He didn’t look any more comforted. “This is where you finally kill me, right? If not as a result of DUI, then by cold blooded murder?”

She scowled. “Keep talking like that, and you’re going to wish I’d murder you.” That drew a smirk to his lips. It may have been contemptuous, but at least it was amused as well. She preferred him more as a sharp-tongued asshole than a maudlin recluse.

After about five minutes, Sif pulled up to a gas station, and popped her trunk. Loki looked confused when she climbed out of the car. “Something wrong,” he asked out the window.

Sif grabbed her wallet from her trunk, and walked to his door. “No, we’re here. Come on.” She patted the roof of the car, and headed inside.

Loki climbed out slowly, as a medieval prince might in the filth of a village. “A 7-11?”

She held the door open for him. “Yeah, my old friends and I came here all the time. Whenever we were bummed, we’d go to the nearest 7-11, get Slurpees, Cheez-Its, and candy.” She smiled fondly at the memory, suddenly missing her old friends dearly. “It was our ‘cure all.’”

“Charming,” Loki said, surprisingly without a trace of mockery, and followed her over to the Slurpee machine. Sif passed him a cup, which he stared at momentarily. “No harm in dabbling in the habits of plebeians.”

Sif glared, but before she could spit venom at him, he smiled playfully and took the cup. Instantly, Sif softened. She grabbed her own cup, and began to fill it with Coca-Cola flavored slush as Loki filled his with cherry. Once he finished, Sif began to fill hers with cherry as Loki began to fill his with cola. They glanced at each other questioningly, before they both erupted with smiles.

“You mix them too,” Sif asked, unable to believe the similarity, or contain her smile.

Loki grinned. “It’s the only way to drink a Slurpee.”

“It totally is.” They alternated between the cherry and cola flavored fountains a few more times, before they strolled through the junk food isle. “Every time I’ve taken the guys, they get some weird flavor. Hogun likes banana. _Banana!”_

Loki made a disgusted face. “Barbaric.”

Sif idly sucked on her blue straw as she studied the candy. “You like Twizzlers?”

His lip curled. “Absolutely not.”

She eyed him slyly, as if testing him. “Red Vines?”

“Much better. Superior in every way.”

Another unstoppable grin showed itself. “Seems you have impeccable taste, Odinson.”

“I have nothing if not that, Lady Sif,” he said as if he were speaking to a queen.

She laughed at the honorific, and picked up a package of Red Vines. “You’re weird.” The corners of Loki’s eyes crinkled from the smile that appeared on his lips. To be honest, Sif was delightfully surprised by how well their adventure seemed to be going. He was actually quite palatable when he wasn’t being an active jerk. He even had a nice smile. She broke open the package of Red Vines and stuck one in her mouth as she went on the hunt for Cheez-Its. As she searched, Loki laughed softly and mumbled beneath his breath.

“What was that,” she asked, not taking her eyes of the shelves.

“I said, this is so _Heathers_ ,” he repeated.

“What’s that?” When he didn’t answer after a beat, Sif tore her eyes away from the shelves of chips to see Loki staring at her in perplexity. “What?”

“You don’t know _Heathers_ ,” he asked dubiously.

Sif furrowed her brow. “Who’s she?”

Loki balked. God, it was like she just asked who the hell Beyoncé was. “ _Heathers!_ It’s a cult classic movie about a girl who’s friends with a bunch of bitchy girls, and has a sociopath boyfriend.”

“You mean _Mean Girls_?”

“No!” Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I don’t mean _Mean Girls_. _Heathers_ predates _Mean Girls_ by fifteen years. It had Wynona Ryder and Christian Slater! They turned it into a bloody musical!”

Sif was actually pretty surprised by his little hissy fit. Over a chick flick no less. “Nope. Sorry…”

His face tightened; it looked like he was about to smack something. “Let’s go,” he said with as much agitation as a mother who was fed up with her children. He grabbed a bag of Cheez-Its off the shelf that had been sitting in front of Sif, and shoved it into her arms. “Take me home.”

She followed him up to the register, and placed her items plus a bag of Halloween candy on the counter. “You okay?” Loki’s conniption stirred feelings of unease, and, honestly, embarrassment, within her. Who the hell freaked out so much over a dumb movie?

“No, we’re fixing this,” he said.

“Fixing what?”

“You’re watching _Heathers_ tonight.”

Sif couldn’t help but laugh. “Jesus, you must love that movie.”

He set his Slurpee down on the counter for the cashier to scan it. “It’s perfect.”

She gave him a wry look. “Why am I paying for your Slurpee? Aren’t you the son of a millionaire?”

“Billionaire,” he stated with as much snobbery as humanly possible. He lifted his drink to his mouth, and sucked obnoxiously on the straw. “But you invited me out.”

Sif rolled her eyes when he winked at her, and shoved the bag of candy in his arms. “Come on.” He snickered as they got in the car, and sped off towards his house. With blatant disregard, he unplugged Sif’s iPhone, and went to plug his own in. “What are you doing,” Sif asked.

He cursed when the adapter wasn’t compatible. “I was going to play _Heathers: The Musical._ You need to upgrade your damn phone.”

“We’re not all made of money, you spoiled brat,” she snapped. She plugged her phone back in, and gave him a wicked glare. “My car, my music.”

Loki held up his hands in defense. Just as a particularly aggressive metal song ended, the sound of a steady drum beat, and a 1980s synthesizer poured into her car. Sif face heated with embarrassment as her hand shot out to change the song. Loki, with reflexes like a cracked out cat, grabbed her wrist, and gave her an amused smirk. “Michael Jackson?”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

Laughter consumed him. “Heavy-Metal-Hipster Sif listens to Michael Jackson?”

“I swear to God, Loki—”

He held his index finger up to silence her as he turned up the volume, and started singing along to _Billie Jean_. He looked as if he was having the time of his life as he got his groove on in the passenger seat. He threw a couple flirty looks her way as he sang along with alcohol-assisted enthusiasm. Sif erupted with laughter, not sure if what was happening was real. She noticed how frequently Loki did things that completely surprised her. Maybe it was his infectious dancing, the alcohol in her own system, or the fact that the song was positively bitchin’, but she joined Loki in his dancing and singing as they sped by Astrid’s party without noticing.

Sif pulled onto Loki’s road, and up to the palatial mansion as the song was ending. She parked in her usual spot beneath a willow tree, and away from the sandstone courtyard. “Jesus, Loki, since when do you get down like that,” she asked as they climbed out of the car with their goodies.

“You’d be surprised by the things I do after a couple drinks,” he said casually.

Sif stopped in her tracks, utterly disturbed by the avenue her brain went down. He barked at her to keep up as he jogged up the stairs to the front door. After repressing visuals of everything kinky, creepy, and Loki related, she followed him into the house.

There was something magical about Odin’s estate. She swore he must have paid astronomers to find a way to make building materials out of stars, because the house always seemed to glow. The main atrium of the manor stretched towards the sky and was made glass, which gave a panoramic view of the marble fountain out front, and the beautiful pool out back. Just beyond the pool, a lake shimmered like black glass beneath the moon. Light poured in through the windows, and filled the atrium with a dreamy glow.

Loki headed up a grand staircase, and down the hall where his and Thor’s rooms were located. He went into the first room on the left, and flicked on the light to their home theatre. Sif’s dad would _die_ for this room. There was a granite bar behind the rows of plush seating that was stocked with snacks, soda, and liquor. Scalloped sconces glowed softly between classic movie posters that were hung around the room. Of course, the _pièce_ _de résistance was the state-of-the-art HD projector screen that took up a complete wall, and framed by burgundy velvet curtains. She and Thor used the room whenever they watched TV or played video games._

_Sometimes, Sif fully enjoyed having rich friends. Be damned if that made her shallow!_

She plopped down on a stuffed, cocoa-colored couch, and ripped into the candy and Cheez-Its as Loki prepared the movie. He dimmed the lights, and came back to the couch with a bottle of Gray Goose Magnum. After pouring a healthy amount into his melted slushee, he offered the bottle to Sif. She followed his example, and clinked her cup against his before they downed the concoction.

It wasn’t long until they were both drunk as skunks. Sif expected Loki would become lachrymose once more, but he turned out to be a fun drunk. They watched the movie while joking, laughing, shoving candy into their mouths, and downing expensive-as-fuck vodka. Sif could hardly follow the movie due to the pool of alcohol her brain was floating in, but enjoyed it nevertheless.

“He’s fucking crazy,” Sif slurred in regards to J.D., “But I’d totally do him.”

“Ugh,” Loki grunted, “So would I.”

Sif erupted in laughter. “Well, now, Loki. I had no idea.”

He struggled so hard to get his sentence out. “Heyheyheyhey don’t judge me. I’d try almost anything once mostly.”

She continued to sputter-laugh. “Oh Gaawwwdd, Loki’s a freak.”

He smirked at her devilishly, or at least he attempted to. He looked more like a waterlogged rodent than a lethal Lothario. “So, what if I am?”

“Well then it’s no wonder Amora fucked Thor. You probably scared her off!”

It took her a moment or two to realize she was laughing alone. She glanced at him, and saw him leaning against the arm of the couch with his face buried in his hand. His breathing became ragged, and Sif wondered if he was crying. Even in her highly intoxicated state, she knew what was going on.

“You guys weren’t really just friends with benefits, were you,” she asked slowly.

“Apparently we were to Amora,” he said, words dripping with acid.

“But to you…?”

Loki didn’t answer. Instead, he bit his lip, and dragged his hands down his face. A wet trail glistened down his cheek. Sif felt her heart break as Loki showed a glimmer of the emotional storm swirling behind his walls. The need to touch him, to comfort him, consumed her. She slid closer to him grasped his knee.

“Why did it have to be _Thor,_ ” he hissed vehemently. He slammed his fist against the arm of the couch with a pained roar. The sudden outburst of violence made Sif jump back in alarm. She stared helplessly as Loki fell apart before her eyes.

Sif didn’t know what to do; she had never been in this position before. It’s not that she lived a sheltered life. It was more like she lived a powerful life. Sif and her friends were untouchable: they were more likely to be inflicting pain, unintentionally or otherwise, based on their position in the pecking order. Never had one of Sif’s friends been on the painful end of drama, so she had no idea how to handle this situation.

Gathering her courage, Sif scooted closer to Loki once more, and carefully placed an arm on his shoulder. He stiffened noticeably. Just as Sif decided it was best to remove her hand, Loki turned his sad, bloodshot eyes to her. If her heart wasn’t already in two pieces, it was now. As if by reflex, instinct, or some deep seeded knowledge, she wrapped her arms around Loki’s shoulders, and pulled him in for a hug. He hesitated, and then buried his face in her shoulder.

Time stopped. Sif was no longer in her body. She felt far away from herself as she began to gently rock Loki, humming some nonsense song. Perhaps it was for the best. If her sober conscious was aware of what was transpiring, she’d probably have a conniption fit of her own. However, life was simpler in Drunk Land. She didn’t care about her ego, or Loki’s endlessly infuriating façade. All she cared about was soothing the burn of betrayal. Though she didn’t know how, she did her best, and eventually slipped into blackness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I hope my fellow compatriots had a lovely 4th with no unexpected fires ('MURICA!!). To my international readers, I hope you had a wonderful Saturday! Hope the weather is better where you're at than here. I'm simply dying.  
> So to beat the heat, here's a chapter set in November!
> 
> As always, your kudos and comments delight me to no end.

The first thing Sif was aware of was that she was sitting up—unusual, for she was typically a stomach sleeper. The second thing she was aware of, was that her mouth was the freaking Mojave Desert. She must have slept with her mouth open again. She curled her tongue and flinched as it cracked like desert ground. Her throat was dry and fuzzy, vaguely reminding her of _The Silence of the Lambs_. A vague impression of moisture tickled her chin. Fantastic: she drooled in her sleep, too.

The third thing she noticed was a head on her shoulder. Her body stiffened from the unexpected company. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she would be asleep next to someone. In the process of racking her brain, she realized she had no memory of the night before. That usually meant one thing: she got hammered. But with who, and where the hell was she now?

Against her better judgment, but in favor of her curiosity, she opened her eyes. The moment her lids separated, every painful sensation related to a hangover came crashing down on her like shrapnel from the sky. It felt as if a medieval torture device was strapped to her head: growing ever tighter whenever she turned her neck. Nausea cheerfully bid her good morning, and caused her stomach to churn threateningly. She felt like dying, and prayed she would.

After she blinked away the Vaseline-like blurriness from her eyes, Sif craned her head down to see her mysterious bedmate. When her bloodshot eyes fell on Loki, she didn’t know what to think. Were it not for the hangover, she probably would have had the energy to freak out. Thankfully, her abused brain accepted this bit of information without any dramatics. Instead, it combed through the mysterious areas where memories were locked away in hopes of solving this mystery.

Astrid’s party. Something happened at Astrid’s party, and they left together. What happened, Sif couldn’t remember. However, she wondered if someone else did.

“Hey,” she croaked, shrugging her shoulder to disturb him from his sleep. Loki, though, apparently slept like a corpse. She shrugged more intensely. “Hey, wake up!”

His head bounced and cracked his cheekbone against her shoulder. He awoke with a jerk and a terrified cry. He rose, a string of scratchy profanity falling from his lips, and rubbed his face. His cheek was red from where it had been pressed against her shoulder all night. “What?”

Sif swallowed a few times, hoping to produce saliva to moisten her mouth. “Morning?”

He flinched violently, and cradled his head in his hands. “What?” He spared her a glance, his brow furrowing. “Sif?”

She nodded. “Any idea what happened last night?”

“Not a fucking clue.” He complained about his head, and struggled to his feet. She couldn’t help but admire his drive. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she’d get up quickly with the hangover she had. He stumbled to the back of the room. Sif heard the suggestion of vomiting, which made her gag. He came back a minute later, wiping the corners of his mouth with his sleeve, and passed her a water bottle. Sif offered her thanks before breaking into it desperately.

Loki sank back into the couch, looking as miserable as Sif felt. He picked up the depleted bottle of Grey Goose, and practically dropped it back on the ground. His chuckle sounded strange to Sif’s ears. “Odin is going to kill me,” he said.

She ignored him; her limit for humoring rebellious rich boy problems wasn’t existent at the moment. “Any idea what happened last night,” she asked after she shotgunned the water.

“Vaguely,” he said grimly. “You?”

She shrugged. “Just that we left Astrid’s party.” She looked at the candy wrappers and empty Slurpee cups around them. “It involved 7-11 though.”

His fingers raked through his greasy hair. If he looked that shitty, Sif dreaded what she looked like. He sighed. “Our clothes are on, that’s all I care about.” She had to agree. The last thing she ever wanted to wake up to, in addition to bitchiest hangover ever, was a naked Loki Odinson.

Because her brain was busy processing the mystery she was currently in, she suddenly realized she wasn’t home. Panic struck her body like a white hot mallet as she jerked upright in search of her phone. She had no idea what time it was, but she was absolutely positive she broke her 1 A.M. curfew. She found her phone between the couch cushions, barely hanging onto its battery life. It was 12:30 P.M. and she had three missed phone calls, and eight text messages from her mother. She felt even more nauseous than she did before.

“I’m in so much trouble,” she groaned as she flipped through the numerous “where r u???” texts. This was probably the end of her social life for a while. “I need to go.”

Loki finished his own bottle of water. “Are you able to drive?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she climbed to her feet, but gravity made her its bitch. She fell back down to the couch and cradled her head. “Oh my god,” she whined.

Loki offered to feed her, suggesting that perhaps food would help her feel better. Tempted though she was, she was adamant on leaving. She needed to get home and start damage control before her mother called the FBI. He walked her to the front door, despite Sif insisting it was unnecessary since she knew her way around the estate.

“Text me if you remember anything,” Sif called over her shoulder as she beelined for her precariously parked car. She noted Thor’s X6 was not in its usual spot.

“You do the same,” he replied. He didn’t shut the door until she had turned off their driveway.

 

***

Pissed hardly came close to describing how Sif’s parents felt when she walked through the door. She was greeted with her mother’s spine-chilling glare, which could easily be used as footage in a creepy demon possession movie. Stupidly, Sif attempted to beat around the bush. Her mother, however, wasn’t feeling that strategy and instantly blew up, going off on the typical worrying parent mantras: “Do you know how worried we were?!” and “You could have called!!” and “I thought you were dead! I was _THIS CLOSE_ from calling the police!” and “You can forget about doing ANYTHING for a _LONG_ time.” Sif couldn’t very well tell her parents she was too shitfaced to drive home, or operate a smart phone for that matter, so she just took the heat, and hoped her mother’s anger would wane sooner, rather than later.

The rest of the weekend went by rather uneventfully. She didn’t hear from Thor, which was unusual as he was normally begging to play Call of Duty when he didn’t have a game, and the only text she received from Loki was him asking if she made it home safely. So she bided her own time by practicing her lines, but mostly adventuring in Skyrim for about ten hours.

By the time Monday rolled around, her parents’ ire had mostly subsided, and things were relatively back to normal. November brought with it gray frosty skies, and teasing promises of snow. Now that Sif didn’t have to risk playing in the freezing weather, she hoped there would be a flurry or two. This year was possibly the first year she ever had the opportunity of enjoying “cozy weather.”

She waited for Thor in their usual spot by Valhalla, the student run store. Valhalla just purchased an espresso machine (damn rich kids), and Sif was seduced into purchasing a cup. She sipped her drink, and attempted to place the strange feeling in her gut. Her brain was racking itself over something important she had forgotten, and her gut was telling her something was amiss. It wasn’t until she saw Thor and felt anger gather in her neck that she remembered she should be pissed at him.

“Hey,” Thor said in his usual cheerful tone.

“Hey yourself,” she snorted.

His gait slowed instantly, and he approached her as if she were a rattlesnake. “You okay?”

She ignored his question, which itself was an answer. “I see you’re alive and well. You drank a shit-ton at Astrid’s party.”

Thor was still wary of her mood. “I spent most of the weekend sleeping,” he answered. “Glad you’re okay too. You suddenly vanished that night.”

“I hung out with Fandral and Hogun after you and Amora—” She stopped midsentence as vague images of the Halloween party trickled in her mind: Thor and Amora flirting and dancing, Loki leaving, trying her first hit of weed, and seeing Thor boff Amora like no tomorrow on the kitchen counter. She glared at Thor in this revelation, and was damn near close to punching him in the throat.

He raised his eyebrow. “After we what?”

“You had sex with Amora,” she hissed, and stalked away, far too angry again to deal with him.

Thor grabbed her arm before she got too far. “So what,” he asked defensively. “What’s your problem? You never cared before!”

Her mouth fell open in disbelief. “Are you serious? ‘So what?’”

A look of unease settled on Thor’s face. His grip slackened on her arm, but he didn’t let go. “What’s this about, Sif?”

She was suddenly aware of a weird vibe. As if reading his mind, she jerked her arm away. “Don’t be stupid, Thor, I’m not jealous.” He sighed heavily with relief, which made Sif angrier for whatever reason. “I know you don’t have respect for monogamous relationships, but I would have hoped you’d respect Loki’s.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. “Loki? What does he have to do with this?”

“He and Amora were dating!”

She may as well have told him he was responsible for killing a child. All the color drained from his ruddy face, and his eyes widened in horror. “What,” he whispered as he stared in complete horror. Sif believed his reaction. Thor was too genuine to be any kind of actor, and this revelation made her feel unbelievably better. She grimly nodded in confirmation.

Thor’s hand shot to his head where his fingers tangled themselves in his blonde hair. His chest heaved in panic. “I didn’t know,” he said, “I swear to God, Sif, I didn’t know! He didn’t tell me! _She_ didn’t tell me! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, ohhh fuck!”

Sif had no idea how to comfort him, and didn’t care. She wouldn't have if she knew how. This would hopefully serve as an important lesson to not lay around with women so irresponsibly. She did pat him on the shoulder in condolence, though.

“I never would have looked at her if I had known,” Thor went on. “I would never do that to Loki.”

She listened to him run through his panic attack, but spoke up him when he became repetitive. “You fucked up, Thor,” she interrupted shortly. “You need to talk to Loki.”

He nodded and pulled on his hair. “Yeah, yeah I do. I need to go find him.”

When Sif expressed her concern about talking to him before class, Thor brushed her off, claiming this couldn’t wait. She wished him luck as he began to hunt his quarry, and headed towards her own class. She felt better knowing Thor was ignorant to Loki’s relationship, rather than not caring at all and doing what he wanted—he was spoiled that way. She hoped he would be able to mend the situation.

***

The auditorium was buzzing for rehearsals. The reality that opening weekend was looming before them had finally settled in. Students were drilling lines, practicing fight call, and providing feedback about scenes for one another. That was one thing that impressed Sif about theatre: the group effort of reaching a common goal. She expected theatre would be snobby, backstabby, and dramatic, but she only ever saw encouragement and support from her peers. Soccer had its hot heads (Sif) and ball-hogs looking for glory, but her cast mates were cheering for each other. It was a wonderful environment to be in.

Loki arrived late, which was extremely unusual for him. Sif watched him closely, looking for any indication that Thor reached him and had their talk. He was as unreadable as always: stone faced when alone, charming and sarcastic around other people. They ran the play from top to bottom without any stops. She attempted to talk with Loki during their fifteen minute break between Act Two and Act Three, but he spent most of the time getting notes from Freya, and then vanished until they resumed. Amora showed up not long after they started Act Three. She sat in the audience beside Freya and watched. Sif couldn’t help but feel an icy stare on her whenever she was on stage.

When rehearsal ended, Sif was stopped by Freya to discuss her notes. Mainly, she needed to incorporate more depth into her performance as she was coming across as a boring, stuck-up bitch instead of a character with diverse emotion. In other words: soften up—“show us your tender side.” This was a vast improvement from her usual laundry list of “needs improvement.”

She more or less brushed Freya off to hunt down Loki. He had already slipped out the theatre, so Sif ran to the parking lot to catch him before he left. She saw him climbing into his black BRZ, and called out his name. He glanced up at her as she approached.

“Just going to take off,” she asked with false offense.

A small smirk cut his lips. “Pardon me, Lady Sif, I had no idea you sought my company.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the honorific. His smirk stayed sharp, but his eyes smiled in return. She noticed a dark spot on his bottom lip. “Everything okay,” she asked.

“Peachy,” he said curtly. “Why?” She tapped her bottom lip. Immediately, Loki’s hand drifted to his own where his fingers brushed against a swollen lump in the middle of his lip. “Ah, yes.”

She already knew the answer. “Did Thor talk to you?”

The smile from his eyes vanished, and a dark cloud passed over his face. “He did.”

“And?”

“Well, obviously it went as well as our other ‘talks’ go,” he growled, suddenly very angry. He attempted to shut his door and drive off, but Sif jumped in the way and propped it open with her body. He spared her an enraged glare, which she returned with a pleasant smile. “Do you mind?”

“I imagine that wasn’t the best way to remember what happened at the party,” she asked as she braced her arm against the roof of his car.

“I never forgot,” he said.

“Then why didn’t you tell me,” she asked, feeling rather annoyed that he left her in the dark about the reason they got drunk.

“I didn’t want to talk about it.” His voice was quiet and frustrated. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then pushed his fingers through his hair.

She folded her arms and studied him. He looked exhausted. Sif never noticed the bags beneath his eyes or the dinginess of his complexion before. She wondered—hoped—that it was just due to recent events, rather than a chronic problem he dealt with. “You do know he cares about you, right?”

He flinched. “Not now, Sif.”

“He does,” she pressed. “You know in the depths of your black heart that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

He snorted, but didn’t argue. Whether or not it was because he agreed, Sif wasn’t sure. The Odinson brothers have fought before; major fights that ended thrown punches, but they eventually moved past their issue. Sif was sure this was one of those situations. No one could deny the sincerity of Thor’s heart.

“You did well tonight,” he said.

She allowed him to change the subject without a fight. “Thanks. Freya said I need to work on my ‘emotional shaping.’”

He nodded. “I can see that.”

“Will you help me with that?”

He practically did a double take, confusion written all over his face. “You’re asking for my help?” She nodded and he smirked. “Well, isn’t this a turn of events? Sif Tyrdottir, sworn enemy to Loki Odinson, asking him for help.”

She glared at him. “Don’t make it weird, Odinson. Will you help me, or not?”

He chuckled before giving her an intense look. A white jolt went through her body from the shine in his bright eyes and the curve of his smirk. She assumed it was due to his unsettling nature. “Of course I will. Since we don’t have rehearsal tomorrow, how about then? Six?”

She matched his smirk with a haughty grin of her own. “Sounds good to me.”

“I’ll see you then,” his voice was silky, and made Sif feel weird. She couldn’t place the feeling she was experiencing, and she had a difficult time discerning whether or not she liked it. They stared at each other for longer than Sif thought was necessary. Her pulse drummed anxiously in her veins while she wondered why Loki kept staring at her and didn’t leave.

She tried to not appear rattled, but failed. “Why are you still here,” she snapped.

The look he gave her was enough to make her blood boil. It was like she was the densest person in the world, and had just sunk to a new level with that question. Sif was preparing to give him a black eye to match his fat lip, he nodded at her. “You’re standing in the way,” he said levelly, but with the most amused gleam in his eye.

Sif started, and realized she was still leaning against his door. A flush broke out on her face as she stepped away from his vehicle. He laughed as he closed his door and brought his car roaring to life. Sif just barely buried the urge to indulge the war within her, and kick his tires. The subwoofers in her car thumped obnoxiously as he peeled out of the parking lot, his car slipping like a black shadow beneath the street lights.

As Sif walked back to her car, the cool air kissing her face, a smile appeared on her lips. She didn’t know why she felt so happy—maybe she was just enjoying the end of a good day—but her smile didn’t disappear until after she had fallen asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Sif’s blade sang a deadly song as it cut through the air, and embedded itself in the crook of a bandit’s neck. The bandit, however, was stubborn and weakly stabbed at her with a dull knife, vainly seeking to administer a disabling wound. Despite his efforts, she was more skilled, and not so easily warded off. The bandit choked on a cry as she viciously ripped her blade from his neck, and severed his head from his shoulders before he had a chance to scream.

Thor was laughing merrily as he beat through the band of marauders with his hammer. Blood sprayed when the head of his weapon crunched against the face of a poor soul who thought to challenge him. Arrows whizzed through the fray, bringing unfortunate endings to the gang. Not long after the skirmish started, the enemies were felled, and a serene silence settled back into the mountain valley.

“Behold the Mighty Thor,” Thor rumbled as he hoisted his hammer into the air. Thunder rolled and lightning licked the sky as he shouted.

Sif rolled her eyes as she searched through the pockets of the fallen. She removed the gold coins, gems, and the occasional healing drought. She was skilled, but also prepared. There was no telling when a healing potion would prove to be useful, especially without a skilled mage among them.

“Must you Shout,” Fandral asked as he neared. He returned his bow to his quiver, and helped Sif search through the fallen.

“Of course I must, my friend,” Thor answered. His eyes shined with battle lust, and his grin was wide. “How else would I announce to the world another victory for the prince?”

Sif found a lovely green gem tucked in the folds of a bandit’s tunic. She admired it in the light before she dropped it in her pocket. “Careful, _prince_ , my sword dines on arrogance, and serves humility.”

Thor swaggered over to her, and placed a meaty paw on her pauldron. She gave him a dry look. “Come now, Sif. It’s not so much arrogance as it is confidence! Let’s not fight and hunt dragons instead. I desire a quest!”

She moved away from him so his hand fell back to his side. “Why are you talking like that?”

Though she wasn’t looking at him, Sif could hear the smirk in Fandral’s voice. “Because he’s secretly a nerd who hides in the dark reading stories of goblins and warriors and the like.”

Thor laughed. “That’s more Loki than me.”

Sif suddenly became aware of Loki’s absence. Rehearsal was canceled for the night, and as far as she knew, Loki had no other obligations. “Where is Loki, by the way?”

Thor snorted, and began to run up the path leading towards a snowy mountain range. “Hell if I know,” he grumbled, “He’s not talking to me.”

Sif and Fandral followed their fearless, albeit reckless, leader to the mountains. “I take it you two haven’t made amends yet,” Sif said.

“He refuses to speak to me,” he snapped. “He looks at me as if I’m filth that crawled out of the sewers. And that’s if he acknowledges my existence at all.”

Fandral deviated from the group, and poached a grazing deer with his sword. He expertly removed the deer’s pelt, and rejoined the party. “You did sleep with his girlfriend.”

“Thanks for sharing, Sif,” Thor growled.

“Don’t get snippy with me, Odinson,” she snapped, “I’m not the one with a loose penis.”

Fandral erupted with laughter as Thor remained speechless. He was probably pouting, and cursing up a storm in his mind. It wasn’t often that he had to suffer for his blunders: no one _dared_ hold the Odinson brothers accountable for any mishap lest it was Odin or Frigga. When Loki was wronged, however, he adored making his assailant suffer, and he loved it even more when it was Thor who needed punishing.

Sif checked the time, and saw it was 5:20. She needed to ready herself for practice with Loki. “Hey guys, I need to go.”

Thor and Fandral whined. “But Vosltagg and Balder said they’d be on tonight,” Thor said. “We were going on a good old-fashioned dragon hunt!”

Her heart sank. It had been at least a year since she saw Balder, and two years since Volstagg was around. They both went into the military straight out of high school, and though Balder was now in college to become an officer, Volstagg was enlisted and stationed in Germany. He didn’t know when he would be coming back to the states, so she, Thor, Fandral, and Hogun had talked about flying out to visit him sometime. Still, it was rare for all six of them to be available at any given time, so Sif was tempted to blow Loki off.

“I can’t, I have rehearsal with your brother,” she said sadly. “But I’ll be over at your house. Maybe we could take a break and join.”

Thor said he’d see to it, and bid her goodbye. Sif saved her game, removed her headset, and turned off her PS4. It had been a lovely afternoon. Today was the first day in weeks Sif didn’t have a rehearsal when Fandral and Thor didn’t have a game, so they decided to campaign through Skyrim Online once they were out of school. Sif changed immediately into a tank top, a pair of sweats, and thick warm athletic socks for their marathon. She made a nest on the armchair in her room, and buckled down with a giant bowl of popcorn and a Mountain Dew.

Since being benched from soccer, Sif had fallen slightly out of shape. Her quads were no longer cut from running and working out, and her stomach got softer, losing most of its definition. She wasn’t upset about it, though. It wouldn’t take her long to get back into shape once the doctor gave her the “okay” to workout. In the meantime, she was enjoying her sports vacation with the junk food she typically restricted during sports.

She thought about changing back into her jeans, but thought against it. She was far too cozy to put on functional-people clothes. So she slipped into her old Nikes, threw on her North Face shell jacket and headed out the door.

One of the attendants let her in when she arrived at Loki’s. As always, Odin’s estate was glowing like a nebula, and the house was wonderfully warm. A scent of cranberry drifted through the house, making her skin breakout into pleasant goosebumps. The view of the lake was haunting: the sun had already set, but the light from the houses circling the water cast it in an eerie glow. Mist began to roll across the water, making Sif feel like she was in the beginning of an awesome horror movie.

She said thank you to the man who let her in, then headed upstairs. Thor could be heard in the home theatre playing Skyrim still. The music was as dramatic as Thor, so she assumed he was in the middle of a dragon battle. She rolled her eyes, smiling to herself. That boy must have been a Viking or something in a past life…

Just as she was wondering if she should knock on Loki’s door, or wait for him to come out, he stepped out of the bathroom and gave Sif a startled look. She almost laughed at his obvious awkwardness, but decided to spare him.

“Sif,” he said stiffly. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

She could hardly contain her smile from his discomfort. “We made plans to rehearse at six, remember?”

“Yeah, but you could have texted me that you were on your way.” He fell silent as his eyes roamed over her attire. “You didn’t have to rush, you know.”

She glared at him. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

He ignored her, and led her down the hall to his room. Annoyed, she followed him inside and stopped as soon as she entered. It never occurred to her before that she had never been in Loki’s room. She had been in just about every other room in the house (except for the master suite and Odin’s office), but his room was always a mystery. She never even had a glance at his personal space. Curious, she looked around.

His walls were painted a light gray, and broken up by matted photos and old-timey posters. The wall opposite the door was ceiling-to-floor length windows, with French doors leading out to a small, private balcony, and flanked by blackout curtains. Cattycorner to the windows was a stone gas fireplace with pictures of his family on the mantle, and a large, flat screen TV above hung above. His king-sized bed was immaculately made with an expensive looking, lustrous black comforter and fluffy pillows. A fancy gray couch was placed at the foot of his bed, with a green throw blanket draped over the back. Finally, Loki’s room wouldn’t be complete without a massive, stuffed bookshelf beside his neatly organized desk.

His room was definitely better kept than Thor’s, which was usually in some sort of disarray. It also smelled _awesome_ ; like some sort of ridiculously expensive European cologne. Sif would burn a candle of that shit if Bath and Bodyworks sold it.

He walked in casually and flipped off his stereo, which was playing some weird electronic “music” some hipster kids were into. There was also something enticing about the way he walked in his room: it was as if he was free from chains or the ugliness of the outside world. He seemed relaxed and confident, rather than stiff and arrogant.

He sat in his desk chair, and watched Sif as she gawked at the photos on his mantel. She smiled when she came across an old photo of a broadly grinning young Thor curling his strappy arm tightly around an equally smiley Loki. It touched her that Loki would display such an affectionate picture of the person he claimed was his enemy. “Thor says that you still won’t talk to him,” she said as she studied the other pictures of various family outings.

“Who,” he asked with the utmost innocence.

She threw him an icy glare over his shoulder, but his obnoxiously angelic expression didn’t waver. “Fine, be that way,” she mumbled as she plopped in the couch across from him. They had a brief staring contest, before Sif grew impatient. “So, what first?”

 

***

The night was remarkably helpful for Sif. They first ran through a couple scenes Freya mentioned to Sif, and then Loki broke down the concept of emotional mapping. First, they discussed _who_ Beatrice was: what kind of person she is, what does she want, how would she react if she suddenly had to go without WiFi, etc. etc. He also helped Sif create a back story to better understand Beatrice as a character.

Then, he lectured her about love. Sif wasn’t sure where he was going with it—she insisted that Beatrice didn’t love Benedick at all, which is why it confused Sif when Beatrice suddenly falls in love with him during the “Kill Claudio” scene.

“I just don’t see it,” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “They’re at each other’s throats the entire play, and then she just falls into his arms because of rumor? It doesn’t make sense.”

Loki sat back in his chair, tenting his fingers against his lips. “You’re not making a smart choice.” Sif gave him a questioning look, prompting him to continue. “Think about it,” he went on. “When your character chooses to hate someone, your acting choices are limited to hostility and apathy, which gets really boring, really fast. Just change how Beatrice sees Benedick.”

“I’m not choosing anything, Loki.” Sif was becoming very frustrated with this. She was back to her old thoughts on this entire play endeavor being a mistake. “Fucking Shakespeare wrote her to be hostile. If he wanted her to love him, he should have written it in.”

Loki’s patience was being tested. “It’s the actor’s job to—”

“It’s stupid,” she blurted. She felt a pang in her chest from not being able to grasp a seemingly simple idea. “This play is stupid, and Shakespeare is stupid.”

Loki’s stilled. His eyes narrowed and lips drew to a thin line. “First of all, don’t insult Shakespeare,” he said, a near freak out brimming in his voice. “Second of all, calm down, and just listen to me.” She went to snap that she was calm, but a withering glare from Loki silenced her before she spoke. She clapped her mouth shut. “The playwright simply writes the play, Sif. It’s the actor’s job to give it life. Choosing to hate another character doesn’t give you many interesting decisions. Choosing to love them, though, gives you a wealth of options for acting.”

She threw her head back, and jammed her fingers into her hair. “I don’t think she loves him, though!”

Loki heaved a heavy, trying sigh. “Think about it, Sif,” he said firmly. “They’re essentially the same person: stubborn, somewhat childish, strong-willed, and intelligent. They were engaged in a battle of wits before they even met. Benedick is the only person to ever bite back against Beatrice rather than dismiss her as an unruly woman. You don’t think she’s not attracted to the challenge he presents her?”

Sif hesitated. His words were so true. It’s not so farfetched that Beatrice would be intrigued by Benedick’s brazenness. Maybe she had a crush on him, but denied it because of her stubbornness. Sif had to admit she, personally, found Benedick attractive as a character. She liked his candidness and sense of humor; when she finally understood what Benedick was saying, she found him to be hilarious, a trait she found overwhelmingly becoming. Like Beatrice, she’d probably never admit to liking someone like Benedick, though, for fear of being told she’s “gotten soft” or that somebody had “tamed her.”

“That makes sense,” she agreed slowly.

“And when you chose to love, you can make more interesting choices for your lines,” he continued. “You can play with shyness, awkwardness, defensiveness, and so on. Maybe she lets her guard down one scene, then raises it again out of fear of being hurt.”

She nodded. The more he spoke, the more it made sense to her. “Then she confesses she loves him at the church scene, because she’s so frazzled by the drama that she can’t hide anymore.”

Loki smiled proudly. “Exactly.”

Sif felt better about her part. As she went through the play in her head, she saw different ways she could engage with Benedick that were completely different than her one-note performances thus far. She felt a buzz of excitement in her stomach. “Can we do some reads?”

The smile he gave her increased the buzz in her stomach. “Love to.”

***

Sif was unbelievably stoked after their reads. She felt as powerful as Loki and Amora looked during their audition reads. Competency and vigor zinged through her veins like no other. Loki couldn’t contain his smiles as Sif rejoiced in this new feeling.

“I told you you were good,” he said.

She waved him off. “You said that in the beginning when I sucked.”

“Maybe I just saw the makings of greatness in you.”

She laughed. “Or maybe you’re just a flatterer.”

He looked at her with dark, hooded eyes and a dangerous, crooked grin. “Maybe I am,” he said, his voice husky like red wine and chocolate. Sif’s breath got caught in her throat, as her face heated from flush and alarm. “Or maybe I mean everything I say to you.”

“Wh-what?” She glanced at the door, contemplating an escape.

He broke his stare, and chuckled. The tingling in her face spread throughout her body as confusion washed over her. “I either deserve a Tony, or you’re just too easy,” he said, his eyes wild with glee.

Her hands balled into fists at her side. Nothing pissed her off more than being made the butt of a joke. Usually, she would have clocked him for being a jackass, but, in the spirit of “variety of choice,” she chose a new tactic. “Don’t tease me, Loki, and I’m not easy.” She locked eyes with him, and sashayed into his personal space. She glanced down bashfully, and placed a finger on his chest. “But I could be for you…” She bit her lip, and gazed up at him beneath her eyelashes.

Instead of squirming like she anticipated him to do, he grasped her elbows and pulled her closer. His eyes were intense, and bore through hers, plummeting straight into her core. Heat pooled between them, and Sif found it difficult to breathe once more. “I’m game,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. Then, before Sif knew what was happening, he dipped his head and leaned in to kiss her.

“NO!” She jumped back while simultaneously pushing him away. He roared with laughter as she danced around the room with the heebie-jeebies. “Holy fuck! _No!_ ”

Loki couldn’t stop laughing if he tried. “Don’t play chicken with me, Sif, you will lose every time.”

Her heart was thumping out of her body, and blood rushed through her veins like white water rapids. The tingling in her arms drove her to throw a series of punches at him, all of which he blocked, laughing all the while. “You’re so creepy,” she screamed.

Her reaction just caused him to howl louder with laughter. Feeling like a fool, she spun on her heel and headed for the door. “Aw, come on, Siffy,” he said as he followed her out. “It was just a joke!”

She stuck her middle finger in the air as she continued down the hallway. Loud noise pulsed behind the door of the home theatre. Thor was obviously still in the middle of his Skyrim adventures. She popped her head inside to see the boulder-like blonde sitting on the edge of his seat, pounding the controller, and screaming into the headset as his and a bunch of other characters attacked a massive, black-plated dragon on screen. Loki appeared over her shoulder to check out the hubbub as well.

When Thor noticed them, his face lit up like the Fourth of July. “Sif! Loki! Come play! Everyone is online! Guys, say hi to Sif!”

A chorus of voices poured through the surround sound. Through the cacophony, she recognized the stentorian voices of Volstagg and Balder. Completely forgetting about her conniption, she charged into the room and ripped Thor’s headset off to talk.

Sif made Thor restart the came so they could use multiplayer. He tossed her a headset of her own, and they set off for another quest. It wasn’t until they were engaged in a losing battle with a steroid-injected bone dragon and a dragon priest that Sif realized Loki was gone. She frowned and scrambled out of the room, barking at Thor to pause the game.

Out of obligatory courtesy, she knocked on Loki’s door and barged in before getting an answer. He was lounging on his bed, distracted by something on his laptop and listening to what sounded like show tunes. When she burst through the door, his head snapped up from his screen with the most irritated look plastered on his face. Before he could demand an explanation from her, she blurted in one breath: “We’re dying against a bone dragon and a priest and we need a healer to keep us alive come play with us please.”

He stared at her a good long while—she was pleased when she realized she wasn’t bothered by it. “No,” he said.

She frowned. “Why not?”

He gave her a rather biting glare. “I couldn’t imagine anything I’d want to do less than electronically gallivanting across a godforsaken land with Thor and his band of Merry Men, just so I could keep them from getting killed by their stupid decisions.”

She sighed impatiently, stormed across the room, and grabbed his hand. He pulled his hand back, completely flabbergasted she would behave in such a way. Sif, however, was becoming impatient with his impetuousness. “Stop pouting and come socialize,” she ordered.

“No,” he repeated hotly.

Sif rolled her eyes. “Why not?”

“Why should I,” he fired back.

“Because I want you to!”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he considered her, his gaze questioning. She saw no need to explain herself further. It was up to Loki to make his decision, not her. She could only extend her hand in invitation, and it was his responsibility to accept it, or spit in it. Resigned, Loki sighed and crawled off his bed. A smile bloomed on Sif’s face that was fractionally mirrored on Loki’s.

When they reentered the home theatre, Thor stared in astonishment. Loki tried to avoid looking at him, and sourly glared off to the side. However, Sif noticed and elbowed him in the ribs. After shooting him a glare, which Loki returned, he sighed and strolled into the room lazily. Thor watched him the entire way.

“Wanna play,” Thor asked, almost childlike.

Loki grumbled, arms folded and bottom lip practically sticking out in an indignant pout. “Sure.”

Thor’s face brightened once more as he scrambled to set his brother up. Loki tried to stifle a smile, but couldn’t help it as Thor passed him a controller and headset. Pleased with herself, Sif flounced back into the room, and took up her spot on the couch behind the boys who were camped out on the floor.

“Guess who’s here,” Thor announced as Loki’s mage character joined the party. There was a chorus of cheers, which obviously pleased him. As he and Balder exchanged banter, Thor glanced over his shoulder to smile gratefully at Sif. She smiled in returned, and equipped her enhanced Daedra sword.

“Let’s go kill some dragons.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, guys, this piece is so much fun to write that I must write every night. Let that be a reflection of my inspiration and passion, not amount of free time!   
> Thanks for all the comments! I'm fairly chatty and egotistical, so I try to respond to them all. You guys rock!
> 
> Anyway, here a lil shortie for you guys. Not very exciting, but TRUST ME: the next chapter is going to be awesome (in my not-so-humble opinion *toots horn*). TheLadySif may, or may not, be pleased.

Sif was crabby and feeling hopeless as she limped into the theatre. Rehearsal didn’t start for another thirty minutes, so the auditorium was eerily empty and quiet. She had her first physical therapy appointment earlier, and left her feeling more pain than she felt in weeks. The demon voice in her head snarled that she would always be a cripple, and she could kiss her athletic career goodbye. Anxiety swelled in her head like a nasty infection, reminding her of the scholarships that were dependent on her ability to perform. Her parents saved a modest fund for college, but not nearly enough to depend on. Without her knee, her future looked bleak.

She collapsed in a seat towards the front of house, and let her head fall back. Her iPhone pumped melancholy songs through her earbuds and into her brain. The melody massaged her cortex, mixing with her mood, and allaying her loneliness. Mindlessly, her hand drifted to her knee to rub her throbbing joint. Today was most certainly not a day for optimism.

Tech members and actors filed in leisurely as call time approached, but Sif chose not to socialize today. She kept her hood up and music on until she forced on stage. Yeah, she felt a little bitchy for blowing off pre-rehearsal routines with her friends, but she didn’t feel much like joking or laughing.

Someone sitting in the seat beside her brought her out of her musical isolation. She was agitated that someone would dare bother her when she made it so clear she wanted to be alone. Lifting her head, she turned to glare at the intruder, but hesitated when she saw Loki sitting casually beside her, feet thrown up on the seat in front of him, and munching happily on a bag of trail mix. She pulled out an earbud, _Break In_ by Halestorm faintly playing from the tiny, exposed speaker.

“Yes,” she asked, her voice dripping with vexation.

He glanced at her sidelong, and tipped the bag of trail mix in her direction. “Everything alright?”

She crossed her arms and slouched down in the seat. “Does it look like it?”

He made no reply, and tossed more trail mix into his mouth. The obnoxious crunching of his snack was enough to push Sif over the edge. She took a couple of deep breaths and focused on her music instead. A confrontation was not what she needed at the present moment. She could hardly stand, for crying out loud.

They sat in silence, watching their peers practice on the stage. The set was in the process of being constructed: half built structures and colorful marking tape littered the stage. Supposedly by Monday, the entire set would be finished and they would start dress rehearsals. Opening night was only a week away. Sif didn’t feel as nervous about it as she thought. Maybe that was because she was in denial.

“What are you listening to,” he asked at length. His attempts at trying to start a conversation would have been obvious to anybody, but it sailed over Sif’s head. She thought he was probing and nosy, as per usual.

“Music.”

He studied her a moment. “You know, for someone who is trying to throw the “fuck off” vibe, you have yet to plug your other earbud back in.” Her glare would have made anyone else’s stomach drop, but Loki didn’t waver. He pitched an eyebrow up his forehead in a questioning challenge. When she made no rebuttal, he continued.

“Listen to this,” he said as he dug out his iPod from his pocket. He placed on speaker in his ear, and offered her the other. Though every fiber of her being was intent on being poisonous (for exaggerated reasons she didn’t even know), she stopped her own music, and fitted Loki’s speaker into her ear. He pressed play, and sound filled her ears.

_September 1 st, 1989 / Dear Diary…_

BAM. 1980s styled synthesizers pulsed through the speaker while a girl narrated the first day of her senior year. A chorus sing-speaking followed her speech.

_Freak! / Slut! / Burn-out! / Bug-eyes! / Poser! / Lard-ass!_

Sif stared at Loki in confusion. He was very much into the song, lip-syncing along as he grinned at her reaction. “What the hell is this?”

“ _Heathers: The Musical_ ,” he said.

Unexpectedly, she laughed. Vaguely, she remembered watching the movie on All Drunks’ Eve, and, vaguer still, recalled him mentioning the musical at 7-11. The singer sounded similar to the music Loki was listening to before she pulled him in for a six hour Skyrim Online-fest. She had no idea he was _that_ into it. Loki grinned at the sound of her laughter.

“You must really like _Heathers_ ,” she said. Her body detoxed as she smiled and laughed.

“It’s truly perfect,” he replied, offering her the trail mix once more. This time she took a handful. “Dramatic, profound, unbelievably quotable, and now a musical. Is there anything else I could ask for?”

“I had no idea you cared that much about musicals,” she said, popping a pretzel into her mouth.

“Love ‘em.” His eyes grew mischievous, yet warm. It was an odd combination, yet ridiculously charming. Sif supposed that’s how he was able to successfully land girlfriends. “I suppose you could call it my quirk.”

The corners of her mouth lifted in a reflexive smile. A strange warmth pooled in her stomach as she recalled their conversation about quirkiness during their first rehearsal. His index finger pressed to the curve of his lips. “But don’t tell anyone.”

She couldn’t stop smiling. “I won’t tell a soul.”

They sat eating his trail mix and listening to _Heathers: The Musical_ until Freya rallied them for warm-ups. Sif stumbled as she stood, her knee weak from her exercises. Loki was quick to steady her and gave her a concerned look. She brushed him off, simply stating that physical therapy sucked. Still, he crowded her as they headed down the sloped vom to the stage, just in case she lost her balance again.

As Loki led them through their warm-ups as usual, Sif’s knee refused to comply. Unfortunately, this was not soccer and she couldn’t sit a game out. Well, technically she could, but she would then be replaced by the she-piranha Amora, and Sif wasn’t going to have any of that. So she pulled up her big-girl pants, and buckled down for a long, painful night.

 

***

Sif lay in her bed at night, unable to sleep. After (irresponsibly) taking 1000mg of ibuprofen, the achiness of her knee eventually died down. She tossed and turned, her bed refusing to be comfortable for her. Her mind buzzed with thoughts she couldn’t identify. The red numbers on her digital clock glared 1:15 A.M. at her. A whimper escaped her throat as she pushed her palms into her eyes.

Her phone buzzed unexpectedly on her bedside table. Not sure who would be contacting her at such a weird hour, she flopped over to her stomach and grabbed her phone. Surprise was an understatement when she saw a text from Brunhilde, one of her teammates from soccer. She hadn’t spoken much with her former mates, a realization that suddenly left a bitter taste in her mouth. Once, Sif thought they were an inseparable band of warriors, but the moment she left the team, her contact with them fizzled out. Upon further thought, she realized she typically lost contact with them when soccer season was over, unless her fellow teammates were also on the softball team. So maybe their bond wasn’t as deep as she once thought, but it still freaking sucked to be forgotten.

_Hope you’re doing well, Sif. We could sure use you in the playoffs. :)_

She stared at her phone, nonplussed. Of all of her teammates to contact her, Brunhilde was the last one she expected. They were more or less rivals, as they were both strikers. They often competed against each other, even during matches, to see who could carry the team to victory. It caused a couple of hot-headed losses, but mostly their rivalry produced positive results.

 _Not going so well?_ She replied.

Brunhilde responded almost immediately. Apparently Sif wasn’t the only sleepless one. _Alfheim School has gotten their shit together. It’s crazy._ _They’re 11:2._

Sif stared at her phone in disbelief. From a team that maybe won three games a year, they managed to completely reverse their win-losses. The idea of it was absolutely mind boggling. They must have enlisted the kids of professional players or something.

 _Must have sacrificed their basketball team to Satan to get better players_ , she replied.

Her phone buzzed with a reply a minute later. _LOL! No kidding. Anyway, going to bed. Traveling tomorrow. PS: We’re all coming to see your play opening night! Break a leg!_

Good feelings and warm fuzzies enveloped her body as she read the text. It made Sif feel important that her teammates wanted to see her act. Granted, she also felt nervous and self-conscious at this idea, but mostly, she felt loved. She bid Brunhilde goodnight, and set her phone back on her nightstand. After hooking her arms under her pillows, and finding a comfortable position on her stomach, she was able to fall asleep.

 

***

Tech week arrived faster than Sif thought humanly possible. When she arrived for rehearsals on Monday, the entire set had been constructed, and only a few finishing touches of paint and fabric were left. The contractors built a model of courtyard, complete with Hellenistic columns and archways of a model Italian villa. There was a drop screen that would lower in front of the villa for the church scenes. The tech crew was busy working on retractable party lights for the ball scene, filling the auditorium with sounds of power tools and profanity. Techies were definitely a different type of theatre geek…

Today was also the first day of dress rehearsal. Sif couldn’t deny that she was excited to get in costume. She wasn’t the girliest person on the planet, but she didn’t mind throwing on a pretty dress from time to time and flaunt her feminine wiles. That was the point of feminism, after all: to be the woman she wanted to be!—Warring her way through life like a boss, and occasionally partying in period costumes!

Her dress was a beautiful crimson with gold lining and a balconette neckline. She didn’t care much for the puffy sleeves, but overall, she loved it. A costume assistant helped fasten a gold rope around her waist, and explained the costume designer’s plan for her makeup, which she didn’t have to wear that night. After she was fully dressed, she floated out to the stage, only tripping on her skirt twice and jamming her bad knee once.

Everyone seemed to have a new electrifying energy now that they were in costume. They acted hammier and more dramatic, all attempting grandiose accents and flourished movements. Sigyn succumbed to twirling and fanning herself like a damsel, which Sif participated in as well. They hooked arms and leaned close together, pretending to gossip like ostentatious ladies of court. Einar made a few passes, his eyes not-so-subtley flashing to her cleavage that the dress boasted. Without breaking character, Sif successfully threatened clipping his masculine pride, and throwing it to the swine. It wasn’t in iambic pentameter, but hey, it sounded Shakespearean enough to her.

Loki strutted on stage like a finely dressed peacock: blue breeches tucked into polished black boots, and a white, tailored jacket that accentuated a V-figure that Sif wasn’t aware he possessed. He fiddled with his cuffs as he flashed dashing smiles at the actresses.

Sigyn giggled and glided over to him. “Well, doesn’t someone look smart.”

He answered with a half-smile, and extended his hand towards her. She took it and was swept away in a short turn around the stage, that ended with a graceful spin and dip. Sigyn was beside herself giggling, and Sif’s mouth tasted like sour milk. Loki set her upright, offered her a curt bow, and strode off stage. Sigyn returned to Sif’s side, looking as dreamy as Sif felt annoyed.

Freya stepped on stage with Loki in tow. She beamed excitedly over her cast, clapping her hands together, and wringing them as she always did when stimulated. After complimenting them all and thanking the costume designer, she explained the rundown of the night. Apparently, tonight was something called “wet tech,” in which they would have several starts and stops to fix lighting. Since the night was probably going to last longer than most rehearsals, food and drinks would be provided. However, anyone caught eating without a smock on, would be subject to cruel and unusual punishment that not even their rich parents could save them from.

After a rousing game of “I Feel the Spirit,” which Sif was finally able to “let go” and shake her hips in the middle of the circle, they put their hands in a circle for a battle cry, then got into positions for fight call. With growling stomach, Sif went backstage where a generous spread of sandwiches, chips, and cookies were laid out. A feeling in her gut told her this was going to be an awesome night: free food always meant good nights.


	11. Chapter 11

Sif turned away from him, determined to not speak to him again. This, however, did not sit well with Loki. He firmly grabbed her arms, and directed her attention back to him. “By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me,” he said. His eyes beseeched her audience, but she was too furious to comply.

“Do not swear, and eat it,” she snapped, ripping her arms away from him. She put a freezing distance between them, and once more turned away.

Loki followed a few steps, but dared not get any closer. “I will swear by it that you love me," he said adamantly. "And I will make him eat it that says I love not you."

Her heart danced, begging her to run to him, but so much held her back. Still, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes carefully searching his face for any tell. "Will you not eat your word," she asked softly.

"LOUDER!" Freya yelled from the audience.

Loki approached her, reaching to brush his fingers along the ridge of her cheek, before cupping her face gently in his smooth hand. "With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee."

"HOLD!" Freya barked as the techies adjusted the light. After a moment of awkward pause, she gave the okay to continue.

Jilted from the interruption, Sif took a moment to get in the zone before she proceeded. "Why, then, God forgive me." She pulled away from his hand, eyes downcast.

His hand chased her, and tipped her chin back up to him. "What offense, sweet Beatrice?"

The concern in his impossibly blue eyes made her smile. His lips twitched in return. "You have stayed me in a happy hour," she said, her tone changing from shy to excitement, "I was about to protest I love you."

Joy exploded on his face. "And do it with all thy heart!"

Sif laughed, overwhelmed by a feeling inside her. "I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest!"

Loki led her back to center stage where he clasped her hands in his, and dropped to one knee. "Come," he said, chest heaving and voice on the edge of ecstacy, "Bid me do any thing for thee."

As she opened her mouth to respond, Freya barked: "STOP!" Sif prepared to hold their pose for a couple of minutes while the lights were fiddled with, but instead, Freya climbed on stage with them. "It'll be just a moment, guys," she said to the techies on the catwalk. "Take ten."

Loki dropped Sif’s hands, and rose to his feet as Freya approached them. Sif was suddenly aware of the bright lights shining on them. She had been so engrossed in the scene, that she didn’t notice the stage lights illuminating them with hot, bright light. When she looked out to the audience, she couldn’t see past the first row. Which, of course, was fantastic. She preferred _not_ feeling like she was in a fishbowl.

“Okay, guys,” Freya said, “It’s time to fix something. There is something big missing from this scene.”

Sif’s brow furrowed, and shot Loki a questioning look. Instead of getting one in return, he intentionally avoided her gaze, and kept his eyes on Freya. Confused even more by this, she raised an eyebrow at Freya.

“Sif,” Freya said, “How does Beatrice feel during this scene?”

Uh, she thought that much was obvious. “Pretty happy?”

Freya nodded, “Yeah. Pretty damn happy. The guy she loves just confessed he loves her too.” She asked Loki the same question, which he repeated Sif’s answer.“Exactly. Now what would you want to do if your crush admitted to liking you, too?”

Sif’s mind was slowing down, wary of where this conversation was going. She glanced at Loki. Again, his face was blank.

Freya got tired of waiting for an answer. “You think you’d want to kiss them?”

For the second time this year, Freya sent Sif’s world to a screeching halt. Her heart and stomach dropped all the way to her feet, as she shot a look over at Loki. He wasn’t at all alarmed or shocked; instead he seemed resigned, as if he had been anticipating this note for a long time. Nerves fluttered like radioactive butterflies in her stomach.

“Kiss him,” Sif repeated incredulously. To his credit, Loki didn’t appear insulted.

Freya nodded. “The play is building up to this moment,” she said. “From the minute Benedick is mentioned to Beatrice in Act I, Scene I, the audience knows they’re going to kiss. This is what they’ve been waiting for. It has to be big.”

Sif couldn’t believe this, yet at the same time, she shouldn’t have been so surprised. This was a love story: what is a love story without a kiss? She was hoping that since Freya didn’t make them do it earlier, she wouldn’t make them do it at all.

“Let’s take it from ‘What offense, sweet Beatrice?’ and make it happen. And you,” she pointed at Loki, “Keep your distance. Make her come to you. Don’t force yourself on her.” She stepped out of the way and gave the stage back to them. Sif was painfully aware of all the eyes suddenly on her, expecting her to perform this action. Thankfully, Loki wasn’t teasing her. He watched her carefully, taking his cues from her. She took a deep breath, and gave him a nod, prompting him to launch back into the scene.

She was barely able to remember her lines, she was so nervous. Autopilot took over as she stumbled through her blocking. It probably wasn’t something a good actor would do, but her mind raced with the upcoming kiss. Kiss Loki? Her best friend’s little brother? Sure, they had become amicable; maybe even friends, but to kiss him? Her lips were chapped. He’d probably think she was gross: can’t keep up on proper lip hygiene. And it was only logical that if he thought she couldn’t keep her lips maintained, she must be an unhygienic person overall and he’d start to avoid her and regret ever talking to her and—

“And do it with all thy heart!”

Whoa, did he just repeat that? _Focus, Sif!_

She turned, her insides shaking. Loki had listened to Freya’s note, and was waiting for her just left of center stage. She took a shallow breath. “I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest…” The same overjoyed expression appeared on Loki’s face, though his eyes were steel and focused on her. Of course Sif thought he was dreading the kiss as much as she was. His eyes only confirmed that notion.

On trembling feet, she met Loki at center stage. He expertly slid his arms around her waist, and she awkwardly placed her hands on his chest. Ugh, she felt like some damsel from a Disney movie. Her skin burned and itched, making her positive she just broke out in hives. She tilted her head up to look at him just as he was leaning in to kiss her.

_It’s okay, Sif! Breathe! Breathe! Ah! Breathebreathebreathebreathebreathe_

His nose grazed her cheek, his breath on her mouth, his lips…

Sif panicked, and pushed away, causing Loki to stumble back a step or two. Her heart was about to give out, and she must have sweat half her body water through her palms alone, and the lights weren’t helping. She couldn’t do it. No way she could do it. She wondered what Loki was thinking, but like fucking hell she’d risk looking at him right now!

Freya snuck up on her, making her jump out of her skin. “You okay, Sif,” she asked in a low voice that was only meant for her. Sure, Sif could lie and say she was fine, but what window-licker would believe that? She focused on breathing and chose to not respond. “It’s not really you kissing Loki,” she said in a soothing, understanding tone. “It’s Beatrice kissing Benedick. It’s not real.”

“Perhaps a stage kiss,” Loki offered helpfully.

 _GO THE FUCK AWAY LOKI OH MY GOD,_ she screamed in her head. She never wanted to hide so badly in her life.

Freya heaved a discontented sigh. “It’s not ideal,” she said, “But we could try it if it’ll help?”

Curious, Sif asked what it was. Apparently it was a trick some actors used by cupping the face of the person being kissed, placing their thumbs over the lips, then kissing the thumbs. It had to be done right, though, otherwise the audience could see the thumbs, and the illusion would be broken. As much as Sif wanted to, she couldn’t fall back on the alternative. It would suggest that she wasn’t good enough, or she lacked the guts to do what she was supposed to do. Sif Tyrdottir did not half-ass. She needed no accommodations.

“No,” she said, “It’s okay. I can do it.”

Freya’s gaze held Sif’s firmly. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, forcing herself to stand a taller despite the desire to hide. “Yeah,” her voice was stronger, though her nerves were not. “I got this.”

Freya squeezed her arm supportively, and went back to her seat in the audience. “From the same spot, whenever you’re ready!”

Drawing a deep breath in from her diaphragm, holding it for three seconds, then exhaling slowly, Sif regained her composure. Loki, bless him, stalled a moment or two, giving her ample time to regain control of her heartbeat, before he delivered his line.

“What offense, sweet Beatrice,” he said, voice heavy with concern.

Sif turned, a happy smile brightening her face. “You stayed me in a happy hour. I was about to protest I loved you.”

Once again, the joy of Benedick appeared on Loki’s face, but his eyes remained his own, and he watched her warily. “And do it with all thy heart!”

 _You got this, girl._ She steeled herself, and began to walk towards him slowly. “I love you with so much of my heart, that none is left to protest!” Once she was near enough, she launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck, and crushed her lips against his. She didn’t hear the whoops and hollers from her cast mates watching in the audience. All she was aware of was Loki’s arms seizing her, and holding her against his body. His lips greedily accepted hers. Sif was so overcome with a barrage of emotions that she began to laugh against his mouth.

Loki broke out laughing too as he held her forehead to his. Then, he grabbed her hands and pulled her to down center stage where he dropped to one knee. His eyes sparkled in the bright lights. “Come,” he laughed, face beaming, “Bid me to anything for thee.”

She was silent, eyes searching him for sincerity. Her pleasantries were replaced by something darker. She visualized the blade of guillotine descending in a gloomy, French market. “Kill Claudio,” she said gravely.

The brightness on his face dimmed, and all that was left was confusion. He searched her in return, wondering where this devastating order had come from. “Ha, not for the wide world…”

They continued their scene, emotions flying high like some Elizabethan soap opera, until Loki swore to kill his best friend to save Hero’s honor. He bowed deeply, and strode off stage while Sif glared after him. Once he cleared the stage, everyone broke out in applause. Sif dropped character, and turned to the audience grinning. She held her hand up to shield her eyes from the lights, but still she couldn’t see anyone but Freya and the stage manager in the front row.

Freya looked over the moon. She congratulated them on their performance, and ordered the play to continue as usual. Sif exited to the wings for the next scene. Her hands were shaking with adrenaline. Loki was leaning against the prop table, grinning madly at her as she waltzed back.

“That was good,” he whispered so as not to disturb the current scene.

She didn’t know what to say…or what the hell he was referring to, for that matter. He was probably talking about their scene in general, but he could also mean the kiss. It wasn’t an awful kiss. At least he didn’t react like it was bad…not that he, Loki, would react to it, because he’s an amazing actor and would never break character even if she drooled all over him. He’d still act like he just snogged Kate Beckinsale, and carry on his merry way. It wasn’t even a real kiss, anyway. So it really didn’t matter how smooth his lips were, or that there was the pleasant hint of spearmint on his lips.

“It was awesome,” she agreed, deciding they were talking about the scene. “Best so far.”

They held each other’s gazes for a few beats, both wearing the same goofy grin. Loki was the first to turn away, his eyes falling to the floor, though the smile remained. He was probably warm from his costume, but he looked flushed. It was as if there was nothing better to look at, for Sif couldn’t take her eyes off him. He looked back to her, drawing the weirdest giggle Sif ever heard from her lips. Mortified, she clapped her hand to her mouth. Loki laughed, utterly amused. Feeling unbelievably embarrassed, ridiculous, and horrifically girly, she darted away in search for the sandwich table.

***

Rehearsal ended disgustingly late. After hanging up her costume, and receiving notes from Freya, she didn’t get out until 11:45. She was exhausted, and could hardly keep her eyes open. Worse yet, she neglected to study for her history test for the next day. Students were allowed to work on homework when not on stage, but Sif wanted to fully experience her first dress rehearsal, and didn’t want to contaminate it with the Franco-Prussian War. She’d have to stay up even later to study…

“Sif!”

Her blood ran cold as she turned around to see Amora stomping towards her. She looked like a pissed Minotaur: complete with breath from her nostrils pluming in the air. God only knew what she wanted.

“What is it now, Amor—”

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are,” she screeched, and shoved her.

Sif’s body flipped into attack mode, but her brain held her back….just barely though. “What the fuck is your problem,” she demanded, voice carrying like a war lord.

“Did you really think you could screw with me and get away with it?” Her green eyes blazed with the fires of Hell.

Sif studied her: tight jeans and heels for poor mobility, cropped leather jacket for restricted movement, and a large purse to throw her off balance. “What are you talking about,” she asked.

“The Odinsons,” she snapped. “First, you hog Thor all to yourself, and second, you stick your nose into _my_ business, and steal my boyfriend, you fucking whore.”

Sif’s jaw literally fell open. She had seen this sort of fight in movies, and caricatured so-called “teen dramas,” but she didn’t really believe they happened in real life. How Amora thought she could possibly blame her for anything was beyond comprehension. “Need I remind you that _you’re_ the one who fucked Thor while supposedly dating Loki?”

“It was none of your business!”

“But it was Loki’s,” she yelled. Fury boiled in her veins at how this woman could mistreat someone so poorly, and not take any responsibility for it. “And I didn’t _steal_ him from you.”

Amora advanced on her again, and Sif prepared to beat the shit out of her. “Oh yeah,” Amora asked, “I know he’s been at your house, and you’ve gone to his. I know you left with him on Halloween. You weren’t satisfied with just Thor, so you had to take Loki as well.”

“Thor and I are friends,” she yelled, hoping the volume would penetrate her unusually thick skull. “Loki and I rehearsed together! I didn’t _take_ him from you. He hopefully dropped you like the trash you are!”

Sif’s head snapped to the side from the force of Amora’s fist. Without a second thought, Sif launched at Amora, slamming her fist to the side of Amora’s face. They descended in a flurry, punching, kneeing, smacking, and shoving. The brawl was so frenzied that neither heard the voices yelling at them until they were pried apart.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Einar yelled as he pulled Amora off. Sigyn rushed in behind, followed by a techie named Freyr, and held Sif back. Amora was a force to be reckoned with. Though he towered over her by a good six inches, Einar struggled to hold the thrashing Amora back. He managed to completely separate her from Sif, and threw her backwards. Amora stumbled, her heels clacking loudly on the icy stones. Blood dribbled from her lip.

“I swear to God, this isn’t over,” she hissed. She snatched up her purse, which she had dropped in the fray, and stormed off to her car. Her tires squealed as she peeled out of the parking lot.

Freyr finally released Sif. Furious, she kicked a bench using her bad leg, and cried out in pain. Sigyn hurried over to her, and attempted to calm her down. While Einar and Freyr mulled over the events that just happened, Loki came over, curious about the gathering. He took one look at Sif who was still raging, and practically screaming profanity despite Sigyn’s best efforts to calm her down, and turned to the two guys.

“What the hell happened,” he asked.

Sif stood, pissed. “Your fucking girlfriend, that’s what happened.” She stormed off towards the parking lot, leaving a stunned Loki in her wake. Never before had Sif been so furious. Sure, she got into skirmishes while playing soccer, but those were competition-fueled, and not really personal. Never before had she been assaulted over trivial drama. She wasn’t part of any drama at all, for that matter! Until she joined theatre, the extent of her drama was Thor’s tantrums, and occasionally losing Fandral at the mall when he got high. She never dreamed about being sucked into some stupid love triangle shit. This is _so_ not what she signed up for.

“Sif,” Loki called from behind her. She blatantly ignored him. Though he probably wasn’t guilty of anything, he had hell to pay too. “Wait, Sif!” He grabbed her by the arm before she got into her car.

She whirled around, and shoved him away. “Don’t fucking touch me, Odinson.”

He held up his hands in submission. “Sif, she’s not my girlfriend! I broke up with her.”

Like a blood thirsty tiger, she advanced on him. “And why the hell was she accusing me of _stealing_ you, Loki? What the fuck did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” he insisted. “I just said that if she’s going to humiliate me in public by flirting with and fucking my brother, then we’re through!”

“Well, she seems to think it’s all my fault!” She turned around to get into her car.

He pursued her again. “Wait, Sif, please—”

She slammed the door on him, locked him out, and tore out of the parking lot. Despite her anger, she glanced in the rearview mirror. He was standing where she left him, fingers yanking on his hair, and yelling at the sky. Whatever. Sif buried any possible emotion other than blind rage. Let him feel whatever the fuck he’s feeling. This is all somehow his fault anyway.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My studying is beginning to suffer because of this fanfiction....  
> But we all suffer for Sifki.  
> I'm aware this isn't the adult way of thinking, but WHATEVER. To quote our favorite Asgardian scallywag: "I do what I want."
> 
>  
> 
> .........here you go.

Sif probably felt better waking up the morning after her Halloween binge than she did this morning. Sleep evaded her last night: she maybe got four inconsistent hours of sleep. Fuck her history test; there was no way she was in the mood to study once she got home. She didn’t get back until late anyway. After her fight with Amora, she drove around for an hour or so, listening to music and trying to calm down. When she was so tired that she used the shoulder of the highway to pass a slow moving vehicle, she decided she was dangerously sleepy, and went home.

When she woke up, she had a nanosecond of peace before the events of the previous night sank in. More specifically, the way she treated Loki when he chased after her. She knew he didn’t deserve any of the blame, and her gut believed him when he denied mentioning Sif during his breakup. He had no reason to mention her, after all. When she checked her phone and saw she had no text messages from him, she felt even worse.

As expected, her history test kicked her ass. Though it wasn’t ideal knowing she completely bombed an exam, history was one of her better subjects, and had the padding to withstand a failed grade. At lunch, Thor made no mention about last night. Obviously Loki hadn’t told him. It didn’t surprise her, once she thought about it. Thor did say Loki doesn’t tell him anything, and she believed that to be true more than the sun being hot. Still, no one inquired about the bruise on her cheek, and that kind of bugged her.

She stopped by her locker to pick up chemistry textbook before her last class. Loki was just down the hallway, leaning against the lockers, and chatting to someone she didn’t know. She hated how he looked so cool in his dark jeans, gray button up, and leather jacket. He glanced up from the conversation, and made eye contact, causing Sif to freeze like a deer. She didn’t know what to do: she couldn’t very well wave, or nod amicably, because she was a major dick to him. But to turn away would indicate hard feelings. She most certainly couldn’t approach and apologize, because, if she was being honest, she was a complete hardhead and loathed admitting when she was wrong, or acted rashly in a fit of rage. Tensely, she waited to take her cues from him. Without nodding, smiling, or even pitching his eyebrows, he turned and left with his friend.

Frustrated, she shut her locker, and trudged to chemistry.

***

“Amora is eerily calm today,” Sigyn said as she leaned closer to the mirror to apply mascara.

Sif threw her dress on over her head, and smoothed out the wrinkles. “Is she now?” Sigyn murmured a soft “mhm,” and coated her lashes with another coat. “Is she cheery, or something,” Sif asked for the sake of conversation.

“She’s still peeved, it seems, but she’s not wreaking havoc like she normally does when pissed off.” Setting down her makeup, she plopped into her chair, and watched as Sif spread her modest collection of eye shadow, eyeliner, foundation, and mascara on the counter. “Don’t you have bronzer?”

Sif threw her a confused look. “Do I have what?”

“Bronzer,” she repeated, “To contour your face. You need to contour your face or the lights will wash you out, and you’ll look like adipose from Doctor Who.”

Sif swore she wasn’t speaking English. “What from who?”

Heaving a tedious sigh, Sigyn instructed Sif to sit down, and offered to do her makeup. Since Sif’s regimen consisted of eyeliner and mascara, maybe eye shadow if she wanted to feel sexy, or foundation if she was having a bad breakout, she conceded and let Sigyn work her magic.

“Aren’t you worried about what she’s going to do,” Sigyn asked as she painted liquid foundation on Sif’s face.

She rolled her eyes. Amora didn’t scare in the least. She was a spoiled brat Barbie doll, and didn’t pose a real threat. Granted, she threw a pretty decent punch that still left a dull ache in her face, but Sif chalked that up to a fluke. When it came down to brass tacks, Sif was clearly the better contender. “No,” she answered.

Sigyn didn’t look comforted. Her pink lips drew to thin line as she lined her lashes with liquid eyeliner, shadowed her creases, and the outer corners of her eyes. Then she grabbed a brown jar from her own makeup bag, and a weird, flat makeup brush. After spraying the brush with antibacterial spray, she swirled the bristles around in the brown powder, and ran it along the hollow’s of Sif’s cheek, temples, and under her chin. “I would be,” she confessed.

Sif wasn’t surprised. Sigyn was a wisp of a thing: maybe standing at 5’4, and weighing in at 105 pounds max. She was dainty, like a glass sculpture, so anything beyond a moth was threatening to her. Sif, however, stood at 5’9, and weighed an athletic 145 pounds, a good percentage of her weight being lean muscle. She wasn’t afraid of very much, and Amora was the least of her fears. “I can handle myself,” she said. “She’s probably bluffing anyway.”

“Not Amora,” Sigyn applied a light coat of blush to the apples of her cheeks. “Amora is anything but a talker.”

Sif shrugged, still not worried. When Sigyn finished, she stepped aside so Sif could look in the mirror. Her reflection shocked her. There was definitely more makeup on her face than she had ever worn in her life. Sigyn apologized, explaining that if one didn’t look like a prostitute, the makeup wasn’t done right. Deciding that Sigyn knew what she was talking about, she thanked her and stood to finish getting ready. The end of her dress somehow snuck beneath her foot, so when she stood, she wound up tripping and nearly falling flat on her face. Sigyn told her to see the costume designer to fix it, so she went in search of him.

Sif found the costume designer, a flamboyant man named Arvid, ironing a waistcoat, and asked if he could fix the problem.

“Oh,” he said rather dismissively, “Just wear some heels.”

“I have a broken knee,” Sif said bluntly, not very fond of being brushed off. “I have no stability for heels.”

He frowned. “Okay, we’ll have to hem it tomorrow. Just watch where you’re stepping, and kick the skirt before you walk.”

Sighing, she hitched up the front of her skirt, and went in search of some water. She entered the backstage space in search of the water cooler. As if the cosmos just wanted her to have an awkward day, Loki was already there sipping from a paper Dixie cup. She almost turned around to wait him out, but that was too cowardly for her blood. Lifting her chin proudly, she marched to the cooler to draw herself a drink.

Oh, lord, it was awkward. Loki eyed her, only budging far enough away from the cooler so she could get to the spout. She felt his eyes burn in the side of her head, but she refused to look at him. Neither of them spoke. The sound of glubbing bubbles in the water jug was deafening, and the wrongness of her behavior last night was a neon, polka dotted, beached narwhal in the room.

Slowly, Loki sipped the water in his cup. The fact that he was still standing idly by, casually nursing his water, instead of walking away, tipped Sif off that he wanted to talk. Judging by the coolness of his demeanor, he was _not_ going to be the one to break the silence.

“The water is cold,” she said, then mentally punched herself in the face for saying something so lame.

And, of course, Loki was douchey enough to call her on it. “Is that really the best you’ve got?”

She shot him a withering glare, one which he just blinked away. Her anger began to rise again, though more from her wounded pride than anything he did. The inner turmoil of feeding her anger beast, or being a Big Girl and apologizing was enough to drive her mad.

Hooray, maturity won!

“Sorry about last night,” she grumbled, and knocked back her water like it was a shot. She wished it was.

It was like she opened a floodgate. He tossed his cup in the trash, and turned to her. His eyes scoured her face for any trace of injury. “Are you okay?”

She was thankful Sigyn had covered the bruise on her cheek. The last thing she wanted Loki to think was that Amora managed to clock her good enough to leave a mark. “Yeah,” she said nonchalantly. “I was just pissed last night. I know it’s not your fault.”

He nodded, apparently his version of accepting apologies. “I’m sorry you got pulled into it.”

She shrugged it off, and poured herself more water. “Who’d have thought she’d be such a psycho bitch. How long did you guys date? Two-three weeks?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Five months, give or take.”

Startled and perplexed, Sif lowered her cup, and stared at him. “I had no idea. You guys never even looked like you were dating.”

Loki shut his eyes, and rubbed the back of his neck. His facial muscles twitched just enough to indicate that this was something that still bothered him. “She liked to keep it behind closed doors,” he said. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But she’d always want to come over to my house, and always asked where Thor was…”

Sif frowned, heart breaking at his implication. “You think she was using you?”

He sighed heavily, and nodded. “We started dating in the summer, so he was normally hanging out with you and the others. I thought she was just curious since he was never home.”

She reached out and touched his arm, giving it a light squeeze. His eyes flicked to hers, heavy and sad. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You don’t deserve that.”

Something passed over his face, but before she could identify it, it was gone, and replaced by a smile. “Oh I doubt that,” he chuckled. “Villains deserve other villains.”

Sif barked a shrill laugh, and tossed her cup away before walking away. “You _wish_ you were dastardly enough to be a villain.”

Loki harrumphed, and trailed her. “I am so! I could be Richard III!”

Sif snorted, and, for some weird reason, tossed her hair back with her hand. “You’re more like Yzma when she turns into a cat from _The Emperor’s New Groove.”_

 

Thoroughly, completely, and profoundly offended, Loki protested, and rattled off a list of his wicked accomplishments. Pranks such as jerry-rigging Mentos to drop into Thor’s soda when he twisted the cap, taping Pop-Its beneath his mother’s toilet seat, and replacing his fourth grade teacher’s hand sanitizer with clear Elmer’s glue, being among his cruel deeds.

“Sounds more like a pain in the ass to me,” she muttered.

Loki grinned proudly. “You mean an evil mastermind.”

Sif refused to humor him. Biting the inside of her cheeks so as to prevent from laughing, she pushed him towards the stage to lead warm-ups. He looked back over his shoulder, a jocund smile brightening his features. Sif’s chest swelled. If she had to be honest, he did have a really, _really_ nice smile. Shaking her thoughts away, she circled up for warm-ups.

 

***

Sif was getting more and more excited for opening night. Everything was clicking, and moving along like a well oiled machine. Everyone had their lines down to a T, the energy was so electrifying, they were probably causing atmospheric disturbances, and everything just seemed to be working out perfectly. Loki wasn’t kidding when he said Asgard Academy’s theatre department didn’t suffer amateurs.

Best of all, Sif was feeling more confident than she ever had in her life. On stage, she was untouchable. There was a special power she felt when she stepped into the spotlights. It was difficult to explain, but there was a rush every time she went on stage, and found a new way to deliver her lines or add interest. Her scenes with Loki were positively her favorite; she didn’t think she could have so much fun playing make believe. She even began to enjoy the kiss scene—for the dramatic effect, of course. Though she didn’t understand theatre very well, even she knew their chemistry was spot on. She supposed Freya must have scene that during auditions, and cast them for it.

During break, Sif wandered backstage to grab another drink of water. Rumor had it that the stage manager had also brought donuts, and there was _no way_ Sif was letting that opportunity slide by. Costume or no, she was having a damned donut!

She spotted the brown boxes stacked on a refreshment table alongside a stack of napkins. Sifting through the boxes, she spotted her prey and pulled out a large chocolate donut with a raspberry filling. In attempt to avoid dripping red goo on an easily stained dress, she turtled her neck out and ate with a napkin beneath her chin.

Amora walked up to her, seeming fairly not threatening. Sif swore the room got colder. “I wouldn’t let them catch you eating that in costume,” she said as if she were giving advice to her protégé. “Freya will lose her mind.”

“What do you want, Amora?” Her tone was hard, and authoritative.

She rolled her eyes laboriously. “I guess to apologize,” she sighed, obviously as fond of apologizing as Sif was. “Last night got out of hand.”

Sif was no fool. She said nothing, and watched her. Amora grew impatient waiting for a response. “I guess I’m just offering a truce,” she extended her well manicured hand, and waited expectedly.

Bewilderment didn’t even begin to describe Sif’s feelings. Bafflement quickly morphed into resolve. Amora was a good actress—everyone knew that. When her history was taken into consideration, there was no way Sif would ever believe Amora could be friendly towards her; most certainly not in a twenty-four hour turnaround. She didn’t trust her one bit, and the fact that Amora thought she could dupe her was beyond insulting.

Sif eye’s flashed from Amora’s hand back to her face. “I don’t want it,” she said. This completely caught Amora off guard. Before she could open her foul mouth, Sif charged on. “I want nothing to do with you, Amora. I think you’re a manipulative, cruel snake, and even if I believed this apology was real, I wouldn’t accept it. I don’t associate with people who use others for their own gain. It’s not my style. Leave me alone, and take your revolting, twisted lies with you.”

Though she would have loved to see the look on her face, Sif turned and walked away for dramatic effect. Once more, power flowed through her body. She was invincible, and Amora would never sink her fangs into her. Ever.

***

Rehearsal ended at 9 o’clock: much better than their midnight ending the previous night. Sif and a couple of the cast members decided to meet up at Roffo’s, a cool hipster diner not far from the school. She had only eaten that donut since lunch time, and a giant burger and fries sounded simply orgasmic. There was also a possibility Sif was curious to see what it was like to hang out with Loki in a group setting. She always thought Thor was the popular socialite of the family, but she never noticed how Loki was able to charm a crowd. It could be argued that he was actually better than Thor, for he utilized charisma and witty observation, rather than volume and crude jokes. The truth was that Loki could get a crowd laughing just as easily as Thor could. They just happened hung out with different crowds.

The girls piled into the women’s dressing room to change and remove makeup. They had run out of facial tissues, so Sif volunteered to go grab some toilet paper. Going as fast as she could on her knee, she navigated through the clutter of the backstage area. Apparently the tech managers weren’t happy with the organization of the backstage, and had lights, trusses, tools, and crates lying haphazardly around the floor.

Sif was so focused on getting changed quickly, that she didn’t remember to kick her skirt as she walked. She tripped as her left foot stepped on a length of her skirt. As she stumbled, her right foot got caught in a truss sticking out in her path, causing her to topple forward and down the few steps to the soundproof bathroom. She hit the concrete floor hard, and slammed the side of her knee on the edge of a step.

Her world became pain. Every part of her body, except for her leg, ceased to exist. White filled her vision, and fire consumed her knee. She screamed, and wished she’d pass out; the pain in her knee being too much to bear.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1100 hits, 80 kudos, and 4 bookmarks?! You guys ROCK! I don't care if that's "comparatively small," I'm so thrilled this fic has a following. Thanks for your support!
> 
> I'm struggling to figure out where to end this. I have a tentative idea, but I'm still debating. Would you guys like more in a series? I definitely have an idea for a humorous/feely oneshot once this is complete (stay tuned for that), but definitely let me know in the comments if you want anything more!
> 
> Love always,  
> Duck!

Chaos ensued. Freyr was the first to find her. Panicked, he started yelling for help, and within a minute, Sif was surrounded by gawkers. Sigyn was the first to break through the throng of confused spectators, and rush to her side. She kneeled by Sif’s head, and pulled her head in her lap. Calmly, she did her best to soothe her and get information from her, but Sif just screamed.

“Out of the way, out of the way,” Freya screamed as she pushed through her students.

Loki tore past her, nearly knocking her over, and jumped down the steps into a kneeling position by Sif. His eyes wildly searched her body in search of any visible injuries, and his hands hovered above her body, desperately wanting to help somehow. They settled for grabbing her hand. At once, Sif squeezed his tightly.

“Sif, honey, I need you to tell me what’s hurting,” Freya said firmly as she kneeled beside her.

Sif sucked back a scream. “My knee,” she gasped.

“I need to look at it, okay?” She waited for Sif’s approval before pushing her dress past her knee. A chorus of “ahs,” “ews,” and “oh my gods” echoed among the onlookers. Freya herself sucked in a breath at the sight of the injury. Loki squeezed her hand tightly, his face contorting in revulsion and sympathy. Apparently it looked about as bad as it felt.

Sif shook her head, and did her best to contain her screams. She held her breath, and turned her fact into Sigyn’s lap. Her face cherried from the effort of containing her pain.

“Freyr, call 911,” Freya ordered as she stood. “Loki, pick her up, and bring her to the stage.”

Loki immediately scooped her in his arms. As he rose to his feet, Sif felt her knee hinge to the side in the most unnatural way, and dangle. It sounded like pulling apart chicken wings at their joints: moist, boney popping. The disturbing sound and the pain that accompanied it drew more screams from her lips. As if she knew exactly what to do, Sigyn jumped in and held Sif’s knee at a more pleasing angle. Reduced to whimpers, Sif turned her face into Loki’s chest as hot tears blazed trails down her cheeks.

Loki set her down in a chair Freya set on the stage. Sigyn held her knee until another one was grabbed to prop it up. Her knee still throbbed with a mixture of sharp and dull infernos of pain, but she was able to think again. Now that she was very aware that everyone in the theatre were watching her and witnessed her screaming and crying, she did her best to reel herself back in. Still, she sucked in her shaky breaths, and couldn’t keep her tears from flowing. All the while, Loki remained by her side, allowing her to break his fingers in her death grip.

When the paramedics showed up, the stage manager was on the phone with Sif’s parents. Gingerly, they loaded her on the stretcher, and carried her out the building. Sigyn walked alongside the cart, softly assuring Sif that everything was going to be okay, and Loki walked on the other side, silent but intense. Freya boarded the ambulance with her, and after the paramedics secured the stretcher in place, they slammed the doors and were off to the hospital.

 

***

Sif was depressed. It was just after midnight, the hospital bed was beginning to hurt her ass, and she was depressed. Everything was more or less a blur after the ambulance shuttled her off to the hospital. Freya was beside her every moment until Sif’s mother, who was losing her freakin’ mind until she realized Sif wasn’t mortally wounded, arrived at the hospital. Her father arrived just before Sif was triaged.

The silver lining to Sif’s injury was that it was urgent enough for her to see a physician immediately. As it turned out, Sif’s patella had been forced out of her trochlear groove and rested on top of her capitulum. In layman’s terms, her kneecap decided to wander from its natural location, and hang out on the outside of her joint. From what she understood, it looked like a giant bulb on the side of her leg, which explained why everyone sounded so freaked out when Freya inspected her injury.

The doctor popped it back in to place, a sensation that was both wildly uncomfortable, but immediately satisfying, and sent her to get X-rays and an MRI. After twenty minutes of listening to the obnoxious humming and groaning of the machine, Sif was transported back to the examination room where her father snoozed, and her mother perused Pinterest. An hour later, the doctor came back with the results. The impact from the fall tore her meniscus and MCL, which was still susceptible after her initial injury, and her healing impaction fracture worsened. The prognosis entailed rest, crutches if moving was unavoidable, and surgery to repair the joint.

Depression hit her hard as the doctor’s words sank in. The play opened in three days. She was so close: after all the time, effort, patience, and tolerance she put into the play, she was going to have to cancel. As nervous as she was to act in front of a crowded theatre, she was equally excited. The electricity she felt in her veins from acting was intoxicating. Now, all of her hard work would be swept aside as Amora floated on stage, and stole her limelight. And Loki…

What about Loki? Well, it would suck to pretend falling in love with a cheating ex-girlfriend. After the way things ended between them, Loki probably didn’t want to be in the same building as her, let alone make out with her on stage. The idea of it angered her as much as it sickened her.

They didn’t get home until two in the morning. Her father had to carry her up to her room due to the staircase being too narrow to accommodate Sif and her father’s bulky frame side by side. He tried to lighten the mood by saying he would carry her to bed just like this when she was a little girl. Though she offered him a small smile, the story didn’t move her. It felt like her world was falling apart all over again.

She lay in her bed, staring at the white Christmas lights stapled to her ceiling. Shamelessly, hot tears slide quietly down her face, and pooled annoyingly in, and behind her ears. In part because of the throbbing pain in her knee, but also due to the crushing defeat she faced today. She was so close…

So close.

***

Sif ditched school the next day, not feeling like having to answer the Curious Kates about why she was on crutches again. Instead, she passed the day by numbly staring at her TV while it played reruns of _Smallville._ She didn’t pay attention to any of it, though; she was too preoccupied wallowing in a flooded field of self-pity.

Eventually, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand to check the time. When she hit the center button on her iPhone, the screen remained black. Her phone died at the E.R. last night, which usually meant it would stay off until it was manually powered on again. Annoyed, she held down the button until her home screen popped up. After it loaded, her phone was flooded with texts from Sigyn, Thor, Loki, and a few of her cast mates. She immediately selected Loki’s name.

_Followed to the E.R. They won’t let us see you. Please keep me updated._

_Everything alright?_

_I won’t say I’m worried, but Sigyn is. Please text me when convenient so I can alleviate her anxieties._

_You okay? Curious if you’re going to be in class today. Good morning, by the way._

_Sigyn is having trouble concentrating on anything but you right now. She’s fearing the worst. Please let me know how you’re doing._

_So you’re not going to class today. What about rehearsal? Text me._

The smile that appeared on her lips as she read the texts was big enough to flood her body with good feelings. She quickly checked Sigyn’s text, which simply stated to update her whenever Sif felt up for it. Based on what Sif gathered on Sigyn’s personality, she definitely wasn’t the type of girl to get worked up over very much. She was sweet and feminine, but she had a coolness about her that was difficult to disturb; most likely due to having to care for her younger sisters. Then again, she was a sweetheart who was very motherly, and it wouldn’t be entirely surprising if she was anxious about Sif’s injuries. Still, she couldn’t stop smiling at the possibility of Loki using her as a thinly veiled excuse to text her.

Thor also sent her a few texts, most of them involving casual conversation, but then one explaining that Loki informed him of her injury, and that he expected to hear from her ASAP. She texted him first since he got Best Friend Privileges, and then texted Sigyn. She took her time responding to Loki, for reasons she wasn’t entirely sure of. He could wait to hear from her, after all. It’s not as if he was waiting on bated breath for her…

She thought about his last text. There wasn’t a point for her to attend rehearsals, since she couldn’t walk without the aid of her crutches. Being there would just worsen her mood, especially when Amora slid into _her_ costume and recited _her_ lines and did _her_ kiss scene. Still, Freya didn’t know what was going on, and Sif supposed she should tell her. Of course, she could always just shoot her a text, or tell Loki to pass on the information of her condition, but she decided telling her in person was what she wanted to do.

After gingerly pulling on a pair of Nike running leggings, a sweatshirt, and her shoes, she strapped on her hinged brace, and hopped down the stairs using her good leg. She informed her mother of her whereabouts, collected her crutches, and headed out the door.

 

***

The theatre was missing the electrifying buzz it normally possessed as she eased her way down the aisle to the stage. Some of her cast mates were lounging around on set idly chatting to the people eating in the first row. Loki was among those on stage, one leg pulled up to his chest as the other swung over the side of the stage. He was focused on his phone, his thumb dancing across the screen. The phone in Sif’s pocket buzzed. She shifted her weight around, and managed to pull out her phone to see another text from Loki.

_Sigyn keeps pestering me about whether or not you’re okay and if you’re coming. If you won’t text me, please spare the girl and let her know. Thank you._

Sif smiled: Sigyn was nowhere on stage. Loki the little liar…

Anya, the girl cast as Ursula, spotted her first, and waved her over. Everybody’s attention snapped to her as she battled her way towards the stage. Loki watched her like a hawk as she approached, and she wasn’t a fan of feeling like prey.

“Must not have been good…” Anya said, frowning.

The kids sitting in the front row scrambled to move down a few chairs so Sif could have a seat. She moved her crutches aside and eased herself into the chair, with the help of Freyr holding the seat down for her.

She shook her head sadly. “Broke my knee again,” she said, “And tore my MCL and meniscus.” Everyone except for Loki deflated at her news. He stared at her with a blank expression as she explained her prognosis, and expected recovery time. “Doctor said no walking unless it can be helped.”

“And you came all the way here regardless,” Loki said icily.

She threw him a look for his tone. “I needed to talk to Freya in person,” she said defensively, rather annoyed with his sudden attitude. What happened to being worried about her? “Besides, I needed to get out of the house.”

Shaking his head, he stood and walked away. Sif stared after him, thoroughly confused from his reaction. She shot the breeze with her friends for a few moments, before she excused herself to seek out Freya. After asking around, she found her in her office filling out paperwork. Freya dropped what she was doing to hold the door open for Sif, who swung herself into the office and plopped down in a chair.

They exchanged the obligatory necessities: how’s your knee? Oh it’s fine, thanks for helping last night. Of course, it’s my job, and I care about you, and so on and so forth. The conversation came to a charged lull, both hesitating before the next question was asked.

“I don’t think I can do it anymore,” Sif said, her voice much weaker than she would have liked.

Freya appeared to be expecting this. She nodded grimly. “I was wondering about that. We’ll make do without you.”

Sif tasted bile in her mouth. Of course they’ll make do without her. They had the wonderful, perfect, Tony-bound bitch Amora to save their skins. She’ll waltz right on stage and wow the audience with her perfect diction, perfect rhythm, and perfect choices. She won’t distract them with her “actor’s feet,” “nervous hands,” or her incessant bodily swaying. She’ll steal the show. Everyone will be in awe of her skills, her beautiful face, and perfect hair. The audience will cheer for her, and Amora will feel even more validated and choose to see her victory as another reason to ignore the blackness of her heart. Sif would be forgotten. The show must go on, and it would go on without her. Much like soccer did.

“I better go,” she said quietly as she slowly rose to her feet. Freya assisted her to the door, and wished her a good night. Sif said nothing, because her voice would have cracked from the pressure of emotion bursting to come out. Though it was longer, she debated taking the hallway around the theatre instead of going through it, but her armpits and hands were becoming sore from using the crutches. It could be her opportunity to say goodbye to her cast mates, anyway.

Somehow managing to back up against the push-bar of the backstage door, she opened the door with her butt and clumsily backed in. The techies were busy tidying up the backstage area. Freya apparently had chewed them out for the state of their space, which ultimately led to Sif’s injury. They avoided looking at her as she swung through on her crutches. Loki was leaning against the prop table, thumb erratically moving across the screen of his phone. She was tempted to bite his head off for his attitude from earlier, but chose a different approach.

“Hey,” she said as she approached.

Loki looked up from his phone, and slid it back into his pocket. He looked at her knee grimly. “Hey.”

“Sorry I didn’t answer your texts,” she said, “I was sleeping most of the day.”

He offered her a thin smile. “Sigyn told me you said you were doing fine,” he said airily, “Thor as well.”

Ah, well, nothing felt quite as good as being called out on a lie. “Sorry for not texting you,” she said, only not as genuinely. He shrugged it off flippantly and looked away from her, which angered Sif. Not caring for his sudden attitude problem, she snapped: “Do you have a problem?”

He glared at her, as if she had no right to ask that question. “No, do you,” his voice was low and frosty.

Sif stared at him nonplussed. It was impossible to tell whether he was coming or going. Just when she thought they were becoming good friends, he pulled a one-eighty and blew her off. It was impossible to get a reliable read on the asshole: he always seemed to change his mind on how he treated her. “Yeah I do, actually,” she snapped, “I have no idea why you’re being such a fucking douche. I didn’t do a thing to you, and you’re treating me like garbage. What the hell is your problem?”

He opened his mouth to fire his retort, but swallowed the words. A procession of emotions passed over his face, until it settled on a frown. He crossed his arms and legs as he leaned back against the table again. “Forgive me,” he muttered darkly. Sif wouldn’t have believed his apology if not for the look in his eye.

She attempted to control her fire, and meet him on neutral ground, rather than provoking a fight. “What’s up,” she asked.

He chuckled dryly to himself, mulling his thoughts before deciding on divulging the information to Sif. “I _really_ don’t want to do this with Amora.”

Sif frowned, her heart feeling for him. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to pretend falling in love with the person who betrayed her, and Loki had no choice short of dropping out of the play altogether. Every night, he’ll have to look into the eyes of the girl who used him, and tell her he loved her. Regardless of whether or not it was real, it was difficult to fully separate from a character. There is always a small part in the back of the mind that was tricked by the play, and that’s the part that will hurt like hell.

“I could do it in crutches,” she said jokingly.

A smile danced in his eyes. “Could you?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, why not? All we have to do is just insert a bit about Beatrice falling off her horse, or something. Totally believable.”

His smile grew wider, and infected Sif. “I’ll write it, since you have no idea how to spell iambic pentameter, much less write in it.” He laughed when she attempted punching him. The sudden loss of balance caused her to topple over, but Loki caught her.

She swatted him away as he helped her upright. “I need no man’s help,” she snapped in mock offense.

He rolled his eyes, despite the fact the corners of his mouth were stuck in the upward position. “Pardon me, my lady.”

There was a moment in which they stood awkwardly in front of each other, stealing weird looks from one another. Sif’s cheeks heated: her cue to leave. “I should go. You have an army to lead anyway.”

The brilliance of his smile faded as his features became crestfallen. He nodded and offered her a quiet goodbye. As Sif began to leave, she stopped in her tracks. A thought, or a sudden urge, passed through her. Slowly, she turned back around. Loki furrowed his brow as she approached him once more and stood before him.

Words became cotton in her mouth. She was being silly—sentimental, as Loki would say. It was a ludicrous idea, one he would mock her for surely, but despite her trepidations, she managed a small smile. “Goodbye hug?”

She braced herself for the mocking laugh and an annoying quip, but, by God, he lit up like Benedick during the “kill Claudio” scene. He pushed himself away from the prop table. Clumsily, Sif moved her crutches aside, and placed them against the table. With butterflies running amok in her stomach, she hopped to him on one foot (this made him laugh), and wrapped her arms around his neck as he encircled her waist with long arms and pulled her close.

Sif just about died because he smelled so good. His arms strengthened about her, hugging her ever tighter. He was warm, too, something Sif didn’t really expect. Though he was tall, he was ridiculously slender, so Sif naturally thought he couldn’t retain heat. However, hugging him was akin to a cozy blanket, and Sif couldn’t help but smile. They idled in each others’ arms for who knows how long, until they heard the beginnings of tongue twisters come from the stage.

“Warm ups are starting,” she said, though didn’t bother to move.

The butterflies nearly made her vomit as he tightened his hold on her. “They seem to be doing fine without me.” His hot breath and deep voice sent a shiver down her spine. She was sure her spine melted.

It took every shred of expertly conditioned willpower to release him. She slowly pulled away, his hands trailing her ribs as she did so, and collected her crutches. A strange silence passed, and Sif once again found unknown words, attached to unknown feelings, turn to cotton in her mouth. They nodded in goodbye, and parted. Sif couldn’t help but feel more depressed than she did earlier as she hobbled away from the theatre for the last time.


	14. Chapter 14

Sif and Sigyn were hanging out amid a pile of blankets and pillows in Sif’s basement. Sigyn had come over to tutor Sif in calculus (she was one of those irritating underclassmen with the brain capacity to handle Squiggle Math), but they abandoned their study for a TV break. Being the polite hostess that she was, Sif allowed her guest to select what to watch, and she opted for _4 Weddings_ on TLC. This was definitely a change from her usual violence-ridden, comic book-inspired TV dramas, but she didn’t necessarily _hate_ the show. She just thought it was grotesque to spend sixty thousand dollars on a wedding that statistically would probably not last. She couldn’t deny that she thought some of the dresses and decorations were pretty, though, and at least it wasn’t calculus, so she put up with it for Sigyn.

They munched on popcorn, and provided commentary for the show. Sigyn apparently had her entire Big Day planned out to the last detail: complete with a horse-drawn carriage to carry them off into the golden, Disney-sponsored sunset. The biggest day Sif had planned was the day she’d win the Women’s World Cup…not like that would happen anymore.

Her mother, who always turned into a Stepford Mom when Sif brought new friends to the house, brought them marshmallow-laden hot chocolate, and chatted pleasantly with Sigyn for awhile. Sif’s skin crawled at the act she put on whenever she brought someone to the house. For whatever reason, it was important for her mother to be Mary Poppins (which, by the way, she dressed up as for Halloween one year), so Sif bit her tongue until her mother sensed her rapidly depleting patience, and floated back out of the room.

“You’re mom’s nice,” Sigyn said as she snuggled into a blanket and sipped her drink.

Sif was too aware of her mother’s “niceness,” and felt bad that she found it so annoying. She muttered in agreement and fixated her eyes on the TV, though she wasn’t paying attention. Her internal clock was demanding that she get ready for rehearsals, which caused a lump of emotion to form in her throat. It was going to be so weird to stay home after being in the theatre four nights a week for the past three months. She kept throwing glances at Sigyn, wondering if she knew what time it was.

“I hate that dress,” Sigyn said regarding a floofy dress with a feathered skirt. It looked like someone killed a chicken and taped the feathers to a skirt.

Sif shrugged. “It’s almost rehearsal time.”

Sigyn craned her head to check out the clock on the wall. “Yeah,” she said softly, turning her sad, brown eyes to Sif. Sympathy oozed from her beautiful orbs, and filled Sif with shame. She felt like a quitter; like she should just play through the pain. “You gonna be okay?”

She shrugged it off, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Yeah, I’ll probably play Skyrim or something. I won’t even notice.”

Sigyn offered her a supportive smile as she collected her things. “Need another ice pack?”

The plastic baggy containing crushed ice had begun to sag and drip sadly on Sif’s sweats. “Nah, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Don’t worry about walking me out,” she said sweetly as she slung her backpack on. “Do you think you’ll come watch?”

Sif didn’t answer. Her eyes stared blankly at the dark wood table in front of the couch. It was a decision that had been pestering her since she realized she had to drop out. On the one hand, she’d be able to see her friends’ hard work pay off on stage. On the other hand, it would be a painful reminder of what _should_ have been for Sif. Not to mention God damned Amora. She knew beyond a doubt the sight of her would fill her will toxic rage.

Her voice was hollow when she responded. “I don’t know.”

Sigyn nodded in understanding, and gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. “Well, let me know if you do. We’d love to see you. Maybe you could hang out with us after. We always go Roffo’s after the first and last shows.”

Sif said she’d consider it, and waved as Sigyn hiked up the stairs to go to rehearsal. The room was uncomfortably thick. A feeling of dissatisfaction nestled into her bones: she wanted to do something, but didn’t know what. Scratch that, the only thing she did want to do, she couldn’t. So, she was left to her own devices, trying to think of a way to satiate the Beast of Boredom within.

 

***

 

Dr. Abrahamsson studied the digital images of Sif’s X-rays and MRIs. She tapped her pen against her lips as she murmured “hmms” and “ahhhs.” Sif was about ready to hurl a model of the knee joint at her if she didn’t drop the pretentious doctor crap, and cut to the chase. Her mother sat beside her, patient as water. Sif definitely took after her father.

“Yeah, this doesn’t look very good,” she said at last. She spun around in her doctor’s stool and scooted over to Sif. “I need to perform a simple exam. Sit back, please.”

Sif knew the drill. It was the same thing Dr. Abrahamsson did the first time she visited the office, and it was what her physical therapist did when she started working out. She sat back on the examination table as Dr. Abrahamsson flexed, extended, twisted, and pulled on her knee.

“Yeah, not very good at all,” she returned to her little stool and wrote some notes on a clipboard.

“So she’s going to need surgery,” her mother asked.

The doctor nodded. “Most definitely. She has significant damage to her meniscus. Her medial collateral ligament _could_ heal on its own, but we may as well fix it before it gets worse—since we’re going to be in there anyway.”

“Will I get better in time for softball,” Sif asked desperately. After her last appointment, she was relieved that her knee would be healed in time to start winter training. Now, though, the future of Sif’s sports career hung in the balance…again.

The doctor thought briefly as she looked over the knee again. “If we get you in no later than next week, there’s a good chance you’ll be able to.”

Sif’s stomach dropped. Surgery next week?

“Is there an opening,” her mother asked.

Dr. Abrahamsson more or less shrugged, and smiled. “I’ll find time.”

The doctor and her mother finished chatting about procedures and other technical jargon Sif probably should have paid attention to. However, she was too relieved that there was still the possibility of returning to sports before graduation. Ah, the perks of a teammate’s mother being a surgeon!

After the appointment was scheduled, Sif and her mother left the office, and returned home.

 

***

Friday morning eventually rolled around, and Sif was the color gray. She’d see her theatre friends in the hall with expressions ranging from anxious and pukey, to excited and spazzy. She did her best to ignore it all, but couldn’t help but feel resentful knowing she was missing out on all the excitement. Once again, she was on the outside of a bond forged by a struggle to meet a common goal.

She had never felt lonelier.

Worse yet, she hadn’t heard from Loki since their goodbye hug. She was sure he was just over her. Over her? Like he was ever under her…Or whatever. Still, it was a huge slap in the face to go from practically partners, to not even receiving an intentionally irritating text from him. Granted, she could text him first, but if he had nothing to say to her, she had nothing to say to him.

That evening, Sif sat in the kitchen moping. It was five o’clock; thirty minutes until call time. Usually, she and her friends showed up early to eat in the front row of the theatre and chat. She missed the jokes, stories, and ridiculous selfies they would take. She wondered if they missed her.

Her mother stepped out of her music room with one of her voice students and walked him to the door. After giving him last minute instructions, she waved him off and entered the kitchen. She threw Sif a curious look as she began to pull things out of the fridge for dinner. Sif remained quiet, preferring to keep her head down on the cool counter top and stare at the clock. It was beyond her how she would make it through the night without dying.

“Tacos sound good to you,” her mother asked as she began to chop tomatoes.

Sif grunted.

Her mother’s eyes slid over to her. She seemed quite annoyed. “Are you going to the show tonight?”

“No.”

“Well, your father and I are.”

Sif’s head snapped up. A bitter feeling of anger and betrayal bubbled in her stomach. “What? Why?”

“Well, for one, I love the theatre,” she said as a matter-of-factly, “And two, you got us really excited for it. It would be nice for you to support your cast mates, too.”

Sif buried her head once more. Yeah, she knew her friends would love to see her come watch, but at what cost? Stupid Amora taking over her role, everyone carrying on happily without her, being reminded that she was so easily replaceable: all of it sounded like torture.

Then she remembered that her soccer team would be attending the performance. In some weird way, she felt like she was letting them down again. Worse yet, she felt like they’d think she was up to nothing: poor Sif, always getting injured, always having to drop out. She had a chance to show her team she didn’t need them, like they didn’t need her, and now that opportunity was gone. Everything just seemed shitty.

“I don’t think I could handle it.”

The complete, crushing sadness in Sif’s voice pulled on her mother’s heartstrings. She set down her knife, and crossed the kitchen to stand beside her. Gently, she placed an arm around her shoulders and stroked her hair. “I know this is hard,” she said softly, “I’m so sorry this is happening. But please, Babycakes, don’t let it get you down for too long. Nothing can hold you back.”

She kissed the top of her head, and went back to making dinner. Strangely, Sif felt comforted. Normally, stock placations rolled off her shoulders, but this time, she was touched. It was true that nothing held Sif back when she was determined: she was never one for moping for very long, and was always looking for the next task. This was no different. True, it sucked balls that she had to drop out, but Sif wasn’t a coward. She wouldn’t abandon her friends just because she was mopey. She had so more dignity than that.

Resolved, she slid off her chair and limped towards the door. “I’ll see you there, Mom,” she hollered and left.

***

Delightfully surprised understated the reaction she got from her cast mates as she hobbled through the backstage door. They circled her, gave her hugs, and pats on the back in greetings. It felt like being in a warm family reunion. She joined them on stage for their pre-rehearsal routine of obnoxious jokes, gossip, and Sour Patch Kids. When Sigyn heard of Sif’s arrival, she dashed out of the dressing room to participate.

When the stage manager called twenty minutes till warm-ups, Sif followed Sigyn back in the dressing room and hung out as the girls got ready to Beyonce music. She felt a pang in her heart that she wasn’t also prepping her makeup or getting into costume. It also occurred to her that she hadn’t seen Amora yet. Curious, she peaked outside and saw she was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Amora,” she asked when she came back in the room.

All the girls exchanged annoyed, tiresome looks. “She gets ready in the drama room,” Anya said disdainfully, “Doesn’t want to rub elbows with us.”

Sif’s stomach rolled in revulsion. Out of an entire school comprised of nothing but snobby, rich bitches, Amora was the snobbiest bitch of the bunch. Brushing the ugly thoughts aside, she came back to the current conversation, which was about top college choices and desired majors—topics that gave Sif hives.

“Warm-up time,” the stage manager called from behind the door.

“Thank you, warm-ups,” they all droned in unison. After finishing their final touches, they filed out of the dressing room to the stage. Sigyn squeezed Sif’s arm as she followed the rest of the cast. Amora floated to the stage as well. Sif was pleased to discover Amora at least wasn’t wearing the same dress. The costume designer threw her in a blue dress that was similar to her crimson one, only without the puffy sleeves. As she passed, Sif caught Amora’s eye. They shared an intense stare down until Amora passed beyond the curtain, leaving Sif alone in the darkness of backstage.

As the cast went through their vocal warm ups and reindeer games, Sif once again felt like an outsider on the other side of the curtain. Not knowing what else to do, she supposed she should go wait in the audience for the show to start. As she descended the same stair case she fell down to take the side passage up to the house seating, Freyr called her name.

She turned around. “Hey!”

“I need to tell you something,” he said, his face serious.

There wasn’t a thing she could think of that would have him approach her in such a grave manner. “What’s up?”

“It’s about Amora.”

Her entire body stilled. “What about her?”

He looked around to make sure they were alone, and stepped closer to her. “She tripped you.”

She blinked, her brain not putting two and two together. “What do you mean,” she asked. It was almost as if her brain refused to accept it. “She tripped me the other day?”

Freyr nodded. “I was helping clean up the mess back here,” he explained and gestured to a corner, “I saw her over there on her phone. I thought she was just trying to get cell reception. I saw her kick the truss in your path just before you tripped on your dress.”

Sif stared at him, slightly slacked jawed. Slowly, her brain mulled over the information she had just received. “Are you serious?”

He nodded gravely. “I swear to God, Sif.”

Slowly, her thoughts began to coalesce. It was Amora’s fault. Amora ruthlessly, and cowardly, attacked her. For what? Jealousy? Control? Sif had the feeling that her tizzy with Amora didn’t end when their fist fight was ended, but she didn’t think it was possible for anyone to sink so low. Despite this news, however, Sif didn’t feel angry; she didn’t feel the urge to march on stage and beat Amora into the ground, nor did she feel the desire to retaliate. Instead, Sif felt an eerie sense of calmed danger. If this was Amora’s plan to win over Sif, she would show that blonde bitch who would get the final victory. Sif was War, and War bowed to her.

She pushed past Freyr and limped back to the dressing room. In a fury, she grabbed her costume from the row of empty hangers, stripped down, and threw her dress on. The other girls came back just as she was sitting down to put on her makeup.

“What’s going on,” Sigyn asked on behalf of the confused flock of girls.

“Amora is _not_ going to beat me,” she growled as she painted her face with matte foundation.

The girls exchanged looks. “What are you talking about?”

Sif relayed the information Freyr had just given her. No one doubted its merit: everyone seemed to think that was well within the realm of possibilities for Amora. Anya had a similar story in which she was positive Amora tampered with her makeup to make her break out in a rash, so she couldn’t audition for last year’s musical _Funny Girl._ Immediately, Sigyn sat down in front of Sif and began to do her makeup.

“Will you be able to handle this,” she asked, referring to her knees.

Sif nodded. “I’ve got this.”

When Sigyn finished, Sif felt as if she had just put on war paint. She strapped on her brace, grateful it didn’t show underneath her dress, and rummaged around her purse. After digging around for a second, she pulled out an orange prescription bottle and popped two Percocet pills. Hopefully, that would be enough to get her through the night.

“Can you even walk,” Anya asked. She was watching Sif with wary eyes, afraid that her knee would suddenly fold in half.

Since re-breaking her knee, Sif had gotten some mobility back in her leg. Luckily, her physical therapist was into eastern medicine, and knew how to perform acupuncture (though he referred to it by some Westernized name, possibly to give it more scientific merit). He stuck her lower back with a needle, consequently alleviating some of the pain in her knee, which allowed her to walk without looking like and feel like Igor. Hell if Sif knew how it worked. She was just pleased to be able to at least partially walk again.

She walked slowly around the dressing room, giving her knee a chance to warm-up. Walking short distances wasn’t a problem, though she still had a minor limp, but she wasn’t sure how well her leg would hold up for two and a half hours. Her mind was made up, though: she’d muddle through the night regardless of consequences.

“Ten till places,” the stage manager called.

“Thank you, ten,” they all chorused.

Sigyn grabbed Sif by the arm. “What are you going to do about Amora?”

Sif hadn’t thought that far ahead. Racing through her options, she decided it was best to just tell Freya that she was well enough to go on. It would be like _The Comeback Kid_ , or something. With time running out, Sif pushed open the door to the dressing room in search of Freya.

She definitely didn’t go unnoticed. Her cast mates all stopped to gawk in confusion as she authoritatively limped around, asking where the director was at. She didn’t get far before the spider Amora stalked up to her.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” she growled.

Sif didn’t even spare her a glance. She gave her a wide berth as she hobbled past to find the stage manager.

“I’m talking to you,” she hissed, and grabbed her arm.

Sif whirled around, and just barely stopped her fist from colliding with Amora’s face. As much as her knuckles wanted to shower Amora’s face with kisses, Sif’s parents didn’t have the persuasion to keep the school from expelling her. “Let go of me,” she said, voice low like a predator.

“You don’t really think you can go out and perform, do you?” Amora’s fingers dug into her skin.

Sif closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose. “Let go, Amora.” She became acutely aware of the eyes locked on them. Everyone watched on bated breath. The room was charged with volatile tension. One misstep would plunge them into chaos.

The stage manager stormed backstage. Another student had gone to fetch her, and they both returned in a hurry. “What’s going on back here?” She flipped up the mic of her headset, and separated the two girls.

As ever, Sif and Amora did not break eye contact. “Sif wants to go on stage,” Amora said, voice clearly brimming with the promise of a tantrum.

The stage manager furrowed her brow, and gave Sif a confused look. “I thought you couldn’t?”

Before Sif could speak, Amora jumped in. “She can’t! Her knee is broken, and besides, she quit!”

“I’m fine,” Sif snapped. “I can walk without crutches.”

Amora moved as close as she could without the stage manager pushing her back. “You quit.”

Sif’s eyes narrowed; she would not relent. “I’m back.”

A few of the stage hands cautiously approached, timidly informing them that the places cue had been called. Sigyn and the other opening actors bunched around, watching the situation warily. The stage manager flipped down her mic, and asked if anyone on headset knew what was going on with the Beatrice situation. The house lights went down, and the audience hushed. The actors looked around, panicked, not knowing what to do.

Suddenly, Freya rushed back, looking glamorous in her sparkling, opening-night dress, to handle the fray. As she was caught up to speed, the stage lights went up. Freya glared and muttered something about idiot light crew. Amora made her case in a huff, demanding that Sif be removed from the theatre for causing a scene. Both the stage manager and Freya tried to calm her down, insisting that everything was going to be sorted out. Meanwhile, the audience waited impatiently as the lit stage went unattended.

Sif looked around at the opening actors who were waiting for someone to tell them what to do. She glanced back at the bickering trio. Amora was so worked up about Sif having the gall to even think she could come back to the show, that she wasn’t even aware that it was curtain up. The seconds ticked by. Loki suddenly appeared among the crowd of actors, probably wondering what the holdup was about. When his eyes fell on Sif, he looked thoroughly shocked.

This had gone on long enough. The show needed to start, and this was her chance. While the stage manager and Freya were occupied with Amora, Sif began pushing her scene partners to the curtain. The stage manager and Freya loudly whispered Sif’s name in unison as she moved beyond their reach. Then, without looking back, and definitely not according to their blocking, Sif, Sigyn and the other actors broke the plane of vision, and stepped out into the lit stage.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sssoooo.....this chapter turned out longer than intended: 10 Microsoft Word pages (Hey! That's a college paper!) at 6,300 words. I thought about breaking it up into two chapters, but everything just kind of flows together, so..AN EXTRA LONG ONE FOR Y'ALL TONIGHT!
> 
> Sadly, yet excitingly, I think the next chapter is the last.  
> Did you know this is the longest work I've ever written? AAANNND the only multi-chapter work I've *EVER* completed? It's a pretty big deal for me. *proud of personal growth...and weirded out by personal fandom obsession*
> 
> Anyway, enjoy. <3
> 
> WARNING/SPOILER: gets a little PG-13 at the end.... ;]

The second they broke onto the stage, Sif felt the beginnings of an anxiety attack. Like during wet tech, Sif could only really see the first row of the audience, which was a curse and a blessing, because Thor was sitting in the center seat. His presence was a comfort, yet another source of pressure. She caught his dumbfounded expression as she walked on stage, then after a second, he was grinning like a fool.

Even though she could only see the first row, she could _feel_ the entire audience. Her body prickled with the sensation of thousands of eyes watching her, scrutinizing her every move. She could hear faint rustles, polite coughs, and the sound of folding programs. Before she stepped on stage, she was so focused on getting out there that she didn’t have time to prepare herself. She only cared about breaking the plane of vision so the audience would recognize _her_ as Beatrice, making it impossible for Amora to go on tonight.

Thankfully, Sigyn was in tuned to Sif. They were supposed to follow Leonato and the Messenger, arm in arm, until it was their time to speak. Sigyn supportively squeezed her arm, willing courage into her. Sif took deep, abdominal breaths, and tried to control her trembling. She remembered her psych teacher theorizing that stage fright was a residual evolutionary response to the fear of being watched, and eaten in the wild. The theory seemed reasonable now.

She remembered herself, and paid attention to the scene. "A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces truer than those that are so washed," Leonato said. Sif's first line was coming up. Why couldn't she remember it? "How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!"

Sif went up on her line, mind completely blank. The bright lights of the stage filled her brain completely, and blotted out all other information. This was horrible. Every silent second felt like an hour in the cruelest torture chamber ever constructed.

"I pray you," Sigyn whispered, squeezing her arm.

Nope. Nope, that didn't jog very much.

"I pray you, is Signior Mountanto--"

Like a flash, the line came flying back into her memory. "I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?" She was choppy and had actor's voice from hell, but at least she got the line out.

The Messenger gave her a puzzled look. “I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army of any sort.”

Sif exhaled in relief as the scene progressed naturally. She sounded stilted and felt more like an actor on stage than Beatrice herself, but her nerves eventually began to settle, and she started to feel more natural. Then, as soon as Loki and his fellows crossed on stage, the buzz came surging back through Sif. He looked so different in the stage lights: effulgent, almost surreal. He ignored her, as per usual during this scene, as he chatted casually with Leonato and Don Pedro. Sif was itching to engage with him again.

“I wonder that you will still be talking Signior Benedick,” Sif interrupted arrogantly, “Nobody marks you.”

Finally, Loki directed his attention at her, his eyes fierce and alive. He cut through the throng of people and slid to her. “What, my dear Lady Disdain,” he drawled, “Are you yet living?”

Yes, this felt so very natural: arguing with Loki, struggling to get the upper hand, and win a battle of wits. They continued their exchange, each raising the stakes in their retorts and insults, until Loki bailed out of the argument, and returned to his conversation with Leonato and Don Pedro.

At the end of their parts, Sif exited stage-left with everyone except Loki and Claudio, who had to finish the scene. As soon as they were in the wings, they all buzzed around Sif, congratulating her and expressing their excitement that she was back in the show. However, trouble is never far away. Amora and Freya stormed up to them, Amora looking like she was about to kill.

“That was inexcusable,” Freya said firmly. “I did not give you the okay. You could get hurt.”

Sif shrugged it off, not really caring what Freya thought. “I’ll be okay. The show needed to start, so I acted.”

Freya was clearly about to lose her cool. She took deep breaths, and when she felt calm enough, she spoke again. “We’re going to talk about this later, Sif,” she turned to Amora. “You’re not on tonight, and don’t you dare go anywhere near Sif, or you’re out. I don’t want another fight tonight.” With that, she turned on her heel and strode away. Amora flashed Sif the most wicked look in demon history, and followed the director out.

Sif exchanged glances with her cast mates, and broke out into silent giggles. They then dispersed to get into their next positions. Sif sought out a chair to sit in until her next scene came up. Loki soon reappeared from the stage, and she rose automatically. He looked for Sif and immediately found her. The smile on his face was enough to brighten the area.

His long strides had him by her side in four steps. “Are you mad,” he hissed, though there was an ecstatic brightness in his eyes, “Do you want to make your knee worse?”

“There’s a thing we say in the athletic world,” she answered smugly, flashing him what she hoped was a smirk similar to his, “’Play through the pain.’”

He shook his head, but a smile shone through on his lips. “You’re insane.”

She feinted a few punches at him, all of which he blocked. “Someone needs to keep Benedick in line,” she said, “It sure as shit wasn’t going to be Amora.”

His large hands engulfed her fists. Eyes blazing, he leaned in so that their foreheads were nearly touching. Sif felt heat collect in her face and neck. She was so glad her fists were balled up; otherwise he’d feel her palms beginning to sweat. “I believe your cue is coming up,” he whispered.

Out of fear of squeaking, rather than speaking, Sif simply nodded her head, pulled her fists from his grasp, and took her place in the wings. Sigyn and the other scene partners were already queued up. As she approached, Sigyn gave her _the look_ : her eyebrow was arched high onto her forehead, and her face practically drawled the question: “What was that about?” Sif played innocent, and shrugged ignorantly. Sigyn made a curt “hmph” and made no further mention of it.

 

***

If Sif died tonight, she’d be alright with it: she’d be going out on top of the world. From curtain up, to blackout, Sif was on fire. Never mind her knee, which protested most annoyingly after the first act; every moment was found, and every line remembered. True, she was clunky in her blocking, and she stumbled a few times over the archaic Elizabethan English, but nothing dampened her flame.

There was an different vigor to Loki during their scenes as well. When Benedick was harsh, Loki played him extra cruel, but when Benedick was caring, Loki threw an intense passion into his acting that had been absent in the past. He didn’t wait for her to kiss him during their famous “kill Claudio” scene, instead he nearly cut her off before she finished her line, and threw in a couple extras before Sif asked him to kill his best friend. Even during the wedding scene in the closing moments of the play, the kiss Loki pressed on her had a new edge to it. Sif almost thought that he…No. That was silly. It was opening night, and that was the only reason behind his new energy.

She and Loki waited patiently in the wings as the cast stepped out in groups for curtain call. Sif had missed this rehearsal the previous night, so Loki explained the process. At this point in the night, she was greatly favoring her left knee, and keeping as much weight off her right knee as possible. Taking anymore steps was enough to make her want to cry. Loki noticed her discomfort.

“You okay,” he asked.

“I think I’m going to die,” she whined, rubbing her knee.

He threw an urgent glance towards the stage: they were just about up. Quickly, he jumped to her right side and held out his arm. “Hold on to me,” he said, “I’ll help you.”

She slipped her arm through his, and hoisted herself upright. She couldn’t help but notice him flexing his bicep, though that could have been because he was trying to support her weight. Still, she had to admit his muscle was acceptable.

After the preceding group bowed, Loki nudged her forward and escorted her to down center stage. He reclaimed his arm to take his bow, earning a chorus of wild applause and some whoops in his favor. Then he stepped back, so Sif could take her bow. The second she stepped forward, the theatre filled with screams.

Her head snapped in the direction the noise came from, where she could just barely make out a large group of girls going wild towards the middle of the audience. They held up a sign saying: “Lost the World Cup: Won the Tony!” She clapped a hand to her mouth, completely moved by her teammates. Tears stung at her eyes. Up front, Thor was adding to the noise by whooping and hollering for her as well. She remembered herself, and took a small bow before stepped back beside Loki, who was grinning from ear to ear for her.

The rest of the cast stepped forward, joined hands, and swept into a grandiose bow. After gesturing towards the back of house where the tech crew was stationed and offered them applause, they joined hands for one final bow, and exited the stage. Loki, once again, took Sif’s arm and assisted her off.

“That was so great,” Anya cheered as the girls entered the dressing room. They all nodded, and chattered as they removed excess makeup and changed back into their street clothes. Sif sat in her chair in front of the mirror, soaking everything in. By far, this had been the most adventurous thing she had ever done. She never would have imagined herself being on stage and performing Shakespeare, but now, sitting there, she was wondering how she’d be able to go on without it. She wasn’t going to turn into a theatre kid: she wasn’t that passionate about it. But the experience she gained, and the friendships she forged made her heartsick to stop.

“So Sif,” Sigyn said as she sat beside her to clean her face, “You have another six performances in your knee?”

Sif barked a laugh. She was damn near to sawing her leg off. Her knee was throbbing so badly that pain radiated throughout her entire leg. “If you give me a gallon of morphine before, during, and after the show,” she said.

Sif finished changing and taking off her prostitute-worthy stage makeup, and made her way towards the lobby to meet her friends. Freya stopped her before she got too far.

“That wasn’t a smart decision, Sif,” she said sternly, “That was a major liability.”

Sif sighed. She didn’t really want to be lectured about her choices, especially ones that involved putting Amora in her place. “I’m sorry,” she said, though not at all meaning it.

Freya made a face at her tone. “I can’t have you do the rest of the shows. I can’t risk you getting hurt.”

Sif nodded, she figured as much. Plus, she didn’t plan on coming back. The state of her knee after the two and a half hour show was abominable. “I know.”

Freya smiled at her, and grasped her shoulder. “You did very well, though, Sif. I’m thrilled with how far you’ve come.”

That drew a genuine smile from Sif. “Thanks.” It then occurred to her, she hadn’t seen Amora at all since the start of the show. Her gut plummeted, wondering if she was skulking in the shadows waiting to pounce. “Where’s Amora, by the way?”

Freya looked exasperated and spent at the mention of her. “We sent her home,” she said, “She was a handful and making a scene, so we sent her away since she couldn’t calm down.”

Excellent! No Amora! Could this night get any better?

She said her goodbyes to Freya, and hiked the rest of the way to the lobby, wincing with each step. The moment she pushed through the doors, she was greeted by her screaming teammates once more. They rushed her and forced her into the middle of a group hug. They chattered endlessly, dumping compliment after compliment on her: Sif that dress was gorgeous! I had no idea you could act! Are you going to do another one? Uh, did you seriously make out with Loki Odinson?!—JEALOUS.

Sif laughed at the idea of Loki being a heart throb. He wasn’t bad, or anything, but she didn’t expect that people outside of theatre would consider him crush-worthy, or anyone to be jealous about. Then again, Sif didn’t expect Loki to have had girlfriends, either. Maybe she had a bad read on what girls found “attractive.”

Thor got impatient waiting for his turn to congratulate Sif, and barreled through the throng of soccer players to sweep Sif into a bone-crushing hug. “You were phenomenal,” he roared as he spun her.

Sif groaned and gasped beneath the might of Thor. “Thanks,” she half-gasped, half-laughed. He set her gently back on her feet, minding the state of her knee.

“I wish I would have known you were acting tonight,” he said, “I would have bought you roses!”

She laughed, and told him not to be stupid, which he took offense to. Her parents greeted her next. Her mother, in addition to being proud, was quite annoyed with her stunt and hoped her knee wasn’t any worse for the wear. Her father, though, silently beamed with pride. They shared a moment as they acknowledged each other quietly. He gave her an approving nod, which she returned in gratitude.

“Sif,” Sigyn said after she weaved through the crowd. She was carrying a bouquet of lilies. “We’re heading to Roffo’s, now! You coming?”

“Yeah,” she exclaimed.

Thor looked elated. “Oh thank god, I’m starving!”

Sif shot him a look. “You’re not in the cast, Thor.”

Thor brushed her off and walked past her. “Yeah, but I’m have an in with the lead actors.”

Sif rolled her eyes, said her farewells to her parents and teammates, and followed Sigyn to the parking lot. Because her knee was in too much pain, she carpooled with Sigyn to the diner a few blocks away. Fellow cast members were already jumping out of their cars and heading inside. Once they entered the restaurant, the wait staff set up a large table for them away from the other customers. Sigyn helped Sif to the table, and sat down in the middle.

Adrenaline and excitement pumped through her veins as she watched her other friends sit down. She jumped out of her skin when Thor pulled out a chair across from her, banging his fist on the table and demanding a pot of coffee.

Sif’s heart instantly jumped to her throat as Loki pulled out the chair beside Thor and sat down. “Jesus, Thor, have some manners,” he growled, “You’re not a fucking Viking.”

“Well, I should have been,” Thor said petulantly. He made eye contact with Sigyn and instantly became Lothario, his eyes narrowing in his patented smolder. “Hello.”

“No,” Sif and Loki said in unison. Sigyn burst out laughing, and Thor glared at them before he turned to his menu. Sif and Loki shared a lingering look before doing the same.

***

Thor boomed with laughter as he continued to tell a story about him and Loki when they were younger. “And he was so furious about having to share his birthday cake, that he swiped it off the counter, and took it to his room to eat it! We found him after he ate half of it and threw it up!”

Sif was nearly in tears from visualizing a seven year old Loki hording his birthday cake like a chipmunk. She glanced over at Loki who was rolling his jaw, and trying to be a good sport about the story. It was clear that he was highly annoyed with Thor, and was possibly plotting ways to humiliate him in return. “One could hardly blame me, since you literally stuff five pieces down your gullet in one sitting,” he said coolly. “I was protecting what was mine.”

Thor guffawed. “Please, you eat just as much as me, you can’t deny it.”

Loki nearly spat his water out. He gave Thor the most incredulous look; it was as if Thor had just announced his pregnancy and was serious about it. “Yes, I eat exactly as much as you: go figure the alarming difference in our sizes."

Sif was greatly amused as the two brothers bickered back and forth. It became apparent that Thor was trying to challenge Loki to an eating contest, but Loki refused to take the bait. In the past, she would have thought their arguing to be tedious, and annoying. Now, she saw the bond behind the words: there was a certain playfulness the way they engaged each other; almost as if they were falling into roles to keep each other happy, or balance an equilibrium. Sif never noticed it before, but finally saw the love they had for each other.

“Well, if you’re not interested in eating, Loki, I suppose you won’t be wanting this.” Thor reached over and swiped Loki’s strawberry milkshake from under his nose. As if responding to war, Loki, in turn, took Thor’s chocolate shake hostage. The two had a stare off, and everyone at the table paid attention to the Odinson brothers. Thor lifted the shake to his mouth, testing him. Loki did the same, their eyes never leaving each other.

Part of Sif thought this was ridiculous: they were just milkshakes. The other part of her knew that Thor loathed strawberry ice cream, and probably only took Loki’s shake to get a rise out of him. She didn’t know Loki’s preferences, but if she knew anything about the Odinson brothers, he was probably in the same boat. She didn’t understand why they would threaten to consume something they hated just so the other couldn’t have it, but since Heimdall was so much older than Sif, she may as well have been an only child; the psychology of sibling rivalry forever remaining a mystery to her.

Impatiently, Thor knocked his head back and began to guzzle Loki’s precious strawberry shake. Scowling and refusing to be outdone, Loki copied, and finally engaged Thor in his contest. They kept throwing glares at each other, neither one willing to be the first to stop drinking, Suddenly, Thor scrunched his eyes shut and slammed the cup down on the table. He wailed and jammed the butt of his hands into his eyes.

“Fucking brain freeze,” he howled, causing a chorus of laughter from the table.

Loki lowered his cup with quiet, but excessively smug, dignity. “Seems I win, brother,” he said like velvet.

The glower Thor gave Loki sent the table in another round of laughter. Sif couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s stupid misfortune. As she watched their engagement, something peculiar happened. It was quick, and Sif almost didn’t notice it happened, but just that small gesture clicked in her mind. Loki momentarily interrupted his arrogant victory to steal a glance at Sif. He was usually focused to fault: nothing broke his concentration unless there was a sizable distraction to divert his attention. Sif was simply watching him, yet it drew his awareness. It wasn’t a harmless look, like he sensed eyes on him or anything; the glance seemed weighted, as if he was checking if she was paying attention specifically to him.

Her body grew strangely cold and warm all at once. Feelings swirled inside her that she couldn’t identify. Wildly, her eyes searched for something to focus on, but didn’t rest until they fell on Loki once again. He was laughing, making some joke about Thor, but she didn’t know what he said. All she noticed was the line of his jaw, the ridge of his cheekbones, dancing eyes, and brilliant grin. Again, Loki glanced in her direction, his smile shifting slightly. Reflexively, Sif eyes fell to the half eaten burger and fries in front of her. She felt her cheeks heat, and the uncontrollable desire to smile like a doofus. Ugh, she felt ridiculous!

When she looked back up, she saw Loki was still looking at her. His eyes were excited, as if he had just heard some wonderful news, and he was grinning from ear to ear. God, she couldn’t help herself! She tried to resist, but the compulsion to smile outweighed her stubbornness. She felt something kick her foot. Startled, she jumped and instinctively pulled her foot back. It then dawned on her that it was Loki’s foot. She glanced up to see him staring levelly, yet invitingly back at her. The butterflies swarmed in her stomach, infecting her body, causing her to grin foolishly, and slide her foot back to his. He smiled, and rested his ankle against hers.

Lord, if she wasn’t spazzing out enough, the giggle she emitted was enough to make her want to die. She hadn’t truly giggled since she was a little girl, but now Loki Fucking Odinson had made her giggle twice in his company. Embarrassed, furious, and elated, she covered her mouth and turned towards Sigyn, her shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. She heard Loki laugh, and she wanted to stab him with a fork.

Sigyn eyed her suspiciously, then looked to Loki. In one fell swoop, a knowing expression settled on her features. Though, the look Sif received from Sigyn was not one of amusement, but something unreadable. Suddenly, Sif was afraid she had made a mistake—like she just betrayed her or something. She recalled Sigyn saying she dated Loki most of freshman year, but broke up because he shut down. Given how Sigyn pranced over to him during the first night of dress rehearsal, Sif wondered if she still had feelings for him. If so, then Sif was behaving just like Thor, and fraternizing with someone Sigyn still held dear. Feeling deeply ashamed and dirty, Sif sobered up, and withdrew her ankle from Loki. She tried to ignore him the rest of the night, but was keenly aware of the looks he was casting her, and stunts he pulled to grab her attention. Still, Sif felt more loyalty to Sigyn than she did to Loki.

The time slipped past midnight, but everyone was still enjoying themselves. They ordered two brownies, each dessert being the size of the plate with a giant scoop of ice cream on the top, and each end of the table worked on their respective brownies. Sif managed to find room for a couple giant bites.

Sigyn suddenly yawned. “I’m going to go. I’m super tired,” she said as she pulled her wallet out and placed a twenty dollar bill under her plate. Given that Sigyn was her ride, Sif began to collect her things and rummage through her bag for money. “Oh no, Sif, I’m sorry, I don’t want to take you away if you don’t want to leave.” She glanced at Loki, “Would you mind taking her back to her car?”

Sif did a double-take and stared at Sigyn in question, but she continued to gaze straight at Loki. He appeared surprised too, but then his lips curved in a small smile. “Of course, if Sif doesn’t mind,” he looked at her warily, his eyes hoping.

“That’s fine,” she said, still not sure what was going on. Sigyn smiled and thanked Loki. After saying goodnight to everyone, she threw Sif a private, encouraging smirk and walked out. Her eyes shot back to Loki. He met her gaze—his entire body language seemed urgent. His lower lip rolled inward, catching on his teeth. Sif felt close to…to…to something! She wasn’t sure if she was about to have a heart attack, hyperventilate, pass out, or punch a hole through the wall. She needed to do something, so she defaulted to taking a giant cut of brownie and ice cream, and shoved it in her mouth.

It was a good fucking brownie.

Thor scrunched his face, and threw her a questioning look. “You alright, Sif?”

“Yeah,” she blurted with a mouthful of brownie. She immediately winced—Loki probably found that endlessly attractive. She swallowed the heavenly bite before speaking again (thusly, making her mother unknowingly proud of her manners). “I think I should go, though.”

“I’ll take you,” Loki said quickly, already rising to pay. When Sif pulled her wallet out to pay, Loki motioned for her to stop. He pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet, and placed it on the table. Apparently, he made a point to pay for Roffo’s every time he attended a cast gathering. It was his way of being a cast leader, and, at the same time, an elitist.

“Well, I may as well go to,” Thor said as he rose as well, “You’re my ride anyway, Loki.”

Both Sif and Loki paused and looked at Thor. “Where’s your car,” Loki asked tightly.

Thor glared at him. “At school. You drove, remember?”

A bitter revelation washed over Loki when he remembered this arrangement. Sighing irately, he ushered them out the door to the parking lot. The ride back to school was tense: there seemed to be some random, sudden Cold War going on in the front seats between Loki and Thor. Sif sat quietly in the back of Loki’s BRZ, listening to his bizarre, trance slash orchestral music with her mind racing a thousand thoughts per second.

Loki pulled up beside Thor’s obnoxious, orange X6. He struggled to lift his bulking frame out of the small, low sports car, and flipped the seat up for Sif to squeeze out.

“I can drive you over to your car,” Loki blurted as she climbed out. The butterflies in Sif’s stomach broke free from her stomach, and began to flutter beneath her skin.

Thor gave Loki a stupid look. “Her car is twenty feet that way.”

“My knee,” Sif piped up helpfully, “It’s really sore after the play. I’d appreciate it. Thanks, Loki!”

She began to ease herself back into Loki’s car, when Thor spoke up: “I can just drive you home. You wouldn’t have to use your leg at all.”

Sif, however, was already sitting in his seat. “It’s okay. I need to drive my car home. Night, Thor!” She slammed the door on him before he could say anything else. Loki chuckled softly as he drove away from his brother.

Sif was painfully aware of how alone she was with Loki. They had never been in a situation without anyone else around: her parents had always been upstairs, and there was always someone in the Odin Estate. Now, it was just her and Loki in a small, blacked out car together. The isolation only intensified as Thor hauled ass out of the parking lot, leaving them truly, undeniably alone.

The Subaru slowly coasted up beside Sif’s Honda, and came to a soft stop. Loki pulled the emergency brake, and shifted around so his was comfortably slouching in his seat and leaning against his door. He patted the gear shift with the palm of his hand, and bit at his thumbnail. His eyes kept darting to her, searching her for something.

Sif wondered if he was waiting for her to get out. He hadn’t said anything, and, honestly, Sif didn’t want to get out. Outside, the November night was frigid. The thermometer on Loki’s dash read 33 degrees Fahrenheit, and Loki’s car was warm. Also…Loki. Loki was in the car, and she didn’t want to leave him. Still, they sat in silence, neither knowing what to say.

“Tonight was fun,” Sif offered lamely, desperate to fill the void. And since Mr. Jerk over there wasn't saying anything, she took the liberty.

Loki bit off a piece of his nail, and wiped it from his lip with his thumb. “Yeah, it was.”

“Maybe…we can do it again sometime?”

He sat upright the moment she suggested that. “Yeah, I’d like that. A lot.”

Her eyes fell to her lap. She didn’t know why, but there was no way she could look at him right now. The atmosphere was charged like a lightning storm, and Sif was nervous of what was transpiring. Granted, she didn’t have any idea what _was_ transpiring, but it was intense, and for the first time in a long time, Sif was rattled.

“I should probably go.” She reached for the door handle, popping the door open the same time she heard Loki suck in a breath. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw his wide, desperate eyes fixed on her, almost pleading with her.

Her heart made her close the door before her head knew what she was doing. Once again, her thoughts were racing through her mind like pod racers in the _Phantom Menace_. All she kept thinking about was courage, terror, and Loki. The situation was becoming so uncomfortable, Sif wanted to run away and not deal with it anymore. At the same time, she wanted to be near him—much nearer than she was now. But what if she was wrong? What if she was a complete idiot, and misread all of his “signals?” He was a flirt: that much was obvious. He could have just been flirting with her, and she let herself get duped into thinking that, maybe, he might, you know…like her.

She looked over at him, and her heart fluttered and stomach tightened. He looked _so_ good just sitting there in his skinny black jeans, dark gray t-shirt, and his leather jacket. Sif felt so frumpy in her Nike running leggings, tank top, and sweatshirt. Not that Sif usually felt insecure based on her clothing, but in this moment, for some stupid reason, she did.

“Is everything okay,” he asked gently.

She studied him: the tenderness of his face, and the concern in his eyes. In that moment, she realized that he, too, was nervous. His index finger tapped Morse Code on his steering wheel and he periodically bit his lip—apparently a nervous tick of his. Her eyes took in the lines of his jaw, the angles of his face, and the softness of his lips. Did he suddenly get closer? Sif’s breathing grew increasingly shallow as she moved closer to him. Her hands began to shake as her forehead collided gently with his. Loki immediately nudged against her, eyes fluttering shut as her fingers gently brushed against his cheek. The feeling of his skin on her finger tips electrified her so much, she reached forward and touched him again, her hand sliding across the plane of his cheek, cupping his face; their mouths ghosting over each other’s.

Sif felt his warm breath on her face. Honestly, she felt like she was going to die. Her nerves were shot, but she savored every second. However, she was a woman of progress. She closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against his. Loki’s mouth moved beneath her, returning her kiss with the gentleness she didn’t know he possessed.

Slowly, she pulled back just enough to look at him. His stunningly blue eyes were heavy and vulnerable, almost pleading her. He was scared, she realized; he may not even know it, but there was fright in his eyes, as if he was hoping Sif was real. Fortunately, she was real: Sif was so very real, and she would prove it to him.

With an intense hunger consuming her, she pressed her mouth against his with more force than their previous kiss. He accepted her gratefully, and returned it with equal heat. His hand flew to her jaw and brought her closer to him, his fingers tickling the nape of her neck. She felt his mouth separate against hers, and tongue flick against her lips. The butterflies came raging back to her: Loki wasn’t her first kiss; that was shared with a former striker for the boys’ soccer team. However, that kiss was the typical first kiss: shy and chaste. Loki was the first to deepen it—request permission to explore her. Nervous yet excited, Sif parted her lips and allowed him passage.

It definitely wasn’t how she expected her first French kiss to be: she didn’t expect the tongue to feel so slimy, and she had no idea what to do. Sensing her rigidity, Loki slowed down and patiently schooled her, allowing her to swipe as his tongue and lips as she got used to the new sensation. She grew comfortable with it relatively quickly, and was able to sink into his kisses. He reached forward and tangled his fingers in her hair, massaging the back of her head while simultaneously pulling her closer.

The fire in Sif intensified. Heat grew in her belly and spread throughout her body. She pushed herself into him hungrily, asking more and more from him. His fire stoked, Loki answered and raised the stakes, his hands circling her waist and searching for skin. She broke away from him long enough to rip her sweatshirt off before launching back at him. He accepted her frenzied kisses as he stripped his leather jacket, and pulled her closer to him so she was practically in his lap.

Her hand shot down to his seat, searching desperately for the lever to lower his seat; she wanted to get closer to him, but nothing was close enough. Once her fingers brushed against the lever, she pulled it and sent his backrest as far back as it would go, so they were laying down. She crawled the rest of the way on him, ignoring the pain she felt when he knee hit the gear shift, and lay on top of him. His fingers peaked beneath the hem of her tank top, ghosting along her side and belly. When she made no objection, he slid his hands further up her shirt, feeling her warm, soft skin.

Sif moaned against his mouth, and followed his suit. Her hands slipped beneath his shirt and trailed over the surprising ridges of muscle she didn’t know he had. Curious, she reared back and began yanking his shirt up. Loki was more than happy to oblige. He sat forward and ripped his shirt over his head, exposing the lean muscle beneath his taunt flesh. She had no idea Loki had any muscle; he was so small, and skinny that she assumed he was all flesh and bone. Lust consuming her, she flattened her body against his as she continued making out with him.

Loki continued his gentlemanly endeavor of testing her boundaries as his hands roamed her body. Fed up with his lollygagging, Sif grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast, over her bra. Loki grunted against her lips as he squeezed and massaged her chest, increasing the fury of his kiss. They didn't pay attention to time; nor did they notice the frequent buzzing of their phones as they succumbed to their teenaged hormones. They continued to make out until their mouths were dry, and lips dreadfully chapped. Still, she didn’t want to stop kissing him. When their kisses became sticky from dehydration, they reluctantly ended their tryst.

“What time is it,” Loki murmured, not being able to resist placing one more on her jaw.

Sif reached blindly for her phone and hit the center button. It was 3:30 and Sif had five missed calls from her mother. Instead of dread, Sif laughing softly. “She’s going to kill me. 3:30, by the way.”

“I’d rather she not,” he answered, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear.

She couldn’t help but smile and lean into his touch. “I should probably go home.”

“Can I come with?”

She laughed, though, part of her wanted him to. “I think my dad would destroy you.”

Loki considered this, then nodded, deciding it probably wasn’t best to tango with General Tyr. He helped her slide back into her seat, then fished around for his shirt. Once they were dressed, Loki got out of the car to help her stand. Sif shivered in the cold night, and stole another kiss from him. “Have a good show tomorrow,” she managed to say around her chattering teeth.

This statement apparently confused him. “You’re not coming back?”

She started her car, and immediately blasted the heater. Woe unto her while she waited for the frigid air to heat up! “Freya says I’m a liability,” she explained, “And I couldn’t anyway. Not without an IV drip of morphine.”

He nodded solemnly, probably expecting this. He leaned down against her car and placed a gentle, lovely kiss on her lips. Sif reflexively smiled when they parted. “Drive safely, please,” he said in that low voice that made her skin prickle.

“I will.”

He stepped away, allowing her to close her door. Still shaking from a combination of chills and adrenaline, she threw her gear in drive and slowly exited the parking lot. She kept glancing in her rearview mirrors, watching Loki watch her drive away. As she turned away from the school, she licked her lips, tasting his sweet, residual presence.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, all good things must end. I hope this is a satisfying ending.
> 
> Thank you all for your support, kind words, kudos, and bookmarks! You guys really inspired me to write, and I'm pleased to announce this is the FIRST writing I have ever finished. I usually get bored and fizzle out, but this particular story was so much fun to write.
> 
> I have a couple ideas for some oneshots (I'm really excited about a particular one that I will hopefully get up soon). I'm also probably gonna try working on "Dissonance" for awhile. Though I must say, I'm not nearly as in love with that as I am with this story.
> 
> Anyway, it's been a real slice! See y'all around! If you feel so inclined, do share this fic with other Sifki fans! I do love attention... ;D
> 
> Much love and stuff,  
> The Duck!

When Sif woke up the next morning, she felt as if she were high on the best drugs money could buy. The previous night continually played through her mind: the play, the diner, and, of course, her tryst with Loki in his car. Looking back, she couldn’t believe the things she had done; how she crawled into his lap, removed her sweatshirt, pulled his off, and encouraged him to grobe her breasts. She never imagined she’d let any guy get away with that: she wasn’t a piece of meat, after all. But in the moment, it felt so good—so right. She couldn’t honestly promise herself that she wouldn’t let it happen again. Hell, she hoped it would happen again.

After a few hours of rolling around in happy memories, Sif decided she should get out of bed. Her mother was furious, giving her the skink-eye and barely saying a word to her. Once again, she was afraid Sif was hurt or injured or raped and dead on the side of the road. Her father said his piece, grounded her for a week, and moved on. So even though the football season was finally over, Sif was unable to hang out with Thor, Fandral, and Hogun, or even play with them on her Playstation.

She decided she’d spend the day lounging around in her sweats, and catching up on her homework. After attempting to make a respectable dent in Hawthorne’s _The Scarlet Letter_ , Sif abandoned the thick prose and settled for the incomparable Tina Fey’s _Bossypants_ instead. Still, she found herself distracted and constantly checking her phone to see if she got any text messages. Edgy and feeling super insecure, she practically tackled her phone when it vibrated on her nightstand. Guilt wracked her when she was disappointed it was only Sigyn.

_How was last night?_

Sif was wary. Though Sigyn _did_ kind of set up the situation last night, she still wasn’t sure where she stood with Loki.

 _It was alright_ , she responded.

After a moment, her phone buzzed again. _Aaaaaaaand? ;)_

Well nothing killed the fear of bad blood quite like a drawn out conjunction followed by a winky face. Sif couldn’t help but smile, partly because she could hear Sigyn’s voice sliding chromatically up a scale while she spoke, but mostly out of relief. She wasn’t sure what she would do if it turned out Sigyn still held a torch for Loki. As she stared at her text, she had no idea how to respond. What does she say? “Hey thanks for setting me up with Loki, we made out like tropey, hormonal teenagers in his car.” She definitely felt like she needed to tell Sigyn, but she had no idea how.

Apparently, Sigyn got impatient waiting for her response and texted again. _I’m of course referring to Loki! You guys were so blatantly flirting last night._

She smiled thinking about it. Never in a million years did Sif think she’d love someone’s attention so much. However, this feeling unbelievably girly thing was getting super old, super quick.

_Well, we may or may not have kissed when he dropped me off…_

Sigyn responded almost immediately. _He’s a good kisser, right?!_

Sif laughed, once again, out of relieve that Sigyn seemed to be very okay with their…relationship? Was it even that? It’s not like he gave her his class ring or anything.

 _Yeah, he’s not too shabby_ , she replied.

A few minutes passed before Sigyn replied. While waiting, Sif felt nervous, wondering if she said the wrong thing and upset her. Or perhaps that she actually _wasn’t_ okay with the situation, and was lying about everything to find out what Sif thought. But once she replied, Sif’s entire body warmed at her response:

_For what it’s worth Sif, I’m really happy for you. Both of you. I honestly think that you guys would be good for each other. Loki needs a girl like you to keep him grounded…and to kick his ass when he’s a dick! Honestly, don’t feel weird or like you can’t come to me if you need to talk about him. I’m way over him, and only see him as a friend now. So happy for you!_

She stared at her phone, eyes on the verge of watering. To be honest, Sigyn was the first girl friend she had who supported her. Most of her friends at Asgard Academy were guys, and in public school, the girls had habits of gossiping and tearing each other down to maintain the status quo. Sigyn had been nothing but a source of strength since meeting her. She couldn’t imagine having a better friend.

Sigyn’s message moved her so much, the only thing she could think of saying was a simple “ _thanks :).”_ It was possibly the biggest understatement in human history.

Sigyn responded with a smiley face of her own, and thus ended the conversation. Sif was still waiting for Loki to text her. Part of her couldn’t help but think he regretted the entire endeavor last night. Angry and spewing insecurities, Sif texted him immediately.

 _Hey, how are you?,_ she said.

She slammed her phone facedown, and went back to her book, mumbling and grumbling about how he’d take forever to get back to her, if at all. However, her phone buzzed before she even found where she left off.

_Not too bad. And how are you, my lady?_

Okay, was it bad to think that calling her “my lady” was insanely cute? She couldn’t help but smile. _Your lady? I wasn’t aware that you owned me._

Thinking that his quick response was just a fluke, she settled down once again to read. Like last time though, her phone buzzed almost immediately.

_I wouldn’t dream of owning you. I only ask for the permission to bask in your beauty._

Ugh, that was painful. Just when she thought Loki could be serious, he went and assed her. Still, she smiled a little bit. He thought she was beautiful?

 _Sap,_ she replied.

Once again, he responded briefly. _If my affections for you make me a sap, my lady, then a sap I shall be. Can I see you later tonight?_

First, Sif couldn’t believe he actually talked like that. Maybe, he was just getting into Method acting, and was pretending he was an Elizabethan heartthrob so he could stay in character for Benedick. Either way, it just underscored the fact that he was a dramatic ham. Second, she felt excited that he wanted to see her again. Of course she said yes; she wanted to see him badly, too. He promised he’d drop by, then stopped texting. Apparently, he was out and about doing errands or whatever.

She glanced at her digital clock. It was four o’clock now, meaning that he’d be at the theatre around 5:30, and get out maybe around ten or so. Then it would be another half hour or so until he’d arrive at her house. She sighed, and began to hate the feeling of liking someone, and the time that kept them separated.

***

Sif eventually made it down to the basement with a couple slices of her father’s Warrior Pizza, her giant, plushy Wonder Woman blanket, and settled in the couch for a binging session of _Arrow._ It had been awhile since she was able to have a proper binge on Netflix, given that the play monopolized most of her evenings, but now that she had been cut loose, it was time to get reacquainted with Mr. Oliver Queen and the lot. Only comic book inspired, bad-ass fight scenes could distract her enough to retain her dignity, and not constantly check the time to see when Loki would arrive.

It was just about 6:30, so the cast probably finished warm-ups, and was working on last minute makeup and costume fixes. The stage manager would be calling for places in about twenty five minutes. Not that Sif was keeping tabs or anything….

She heard the basement door open and somebody come down the stairs. It was probably her mother coming to check on the laundry, or something so she paid no mind. She took a bite of her pizza, and settled in, her eyes glued to the screen as Stephen Amell worked out in his secret lair. The cause of her entrancement was simply due to the complexity of his workout, and the incredibly muscle control it took to execute his exercises. It totally wasn’t due to the fact he was insanely hot…

“If that’s the kind of thing you’re in to, should I be afraid you’ll leave me for my brother, too?”

Sif yelped in terror, and whirled around to see a disturbed Loki staring at the TV screen. Her heart thrummed like a cracked out drummer, and all thoughts ceased when she realized that it was a half hour before show time, and Loki was standing in her basement in street clothes. When she didn’t respond to him, he glanced at her, eyebrow arched in question.

“He may as well be Thor,” he continued, “Blonde hair, blue eyes, steroid-assisted physique…”

“What are you doing here,” she finally managed to say.

Loki licked his teeth, and looked most petulant. “You said I could come see you tonight. Had I known you had plans to ogle—”

“The play starts in half an hour!”

He shrugged, as if she mentioned something of no consequence. “I’m sure Einar’s prepared.”

Disbelief shrouded her mind at what he was suggesting. “Did you quit?”

“I told you, I really didn’t want to do it with Amora.”

She stared at him incredulously. Never in a million years did she expect Loki to drop out of the play. Yes, she knew he hated Amora’s rotten innards, but she always imagined that he loved the theatre more than he hated anything. Yet here he was, standing in her basement without a shred of remorse on his face.

The room suddenly became awkward. Sif had forgotten about talking, and wound up staring at him while lost in her own thoughts. He inclined his head in question, probably annoyed he was just being stared at. She shook her head, and snapped out of it.

“Wanna come sit,” she asked.

He bit his lower lip, his eyes roaming everywhere except for her as he strolled towards the couch with his hands in his pockets. She cleared some space for him on the couch, and he sat with a gap between them. The gap annoyed Sif, and she wondered why he sat so far away from her. She didn’t say anything about it, though. The feeling of the room was too uncomfortable, and she had no idea what to say without sounding clingy anyway.

“What is this,” he asked, nodding at the screen.

“ _Arrow,_ ” she answered.

He furrowed his brow, as if it sounded familiar, but couldn’t place it. When Sif explained the premise of the show, he nodded, stating it was the same drivel that Thor watched religiously. A nagging thought pervaded her mind: maybe this whole Loki thing was a bad idea. He was distant, tense, and condescending. Granted, no different than usual, but she thought he would at least change a little after what happened…

“It’s actually a well developed show,” she said defensively.

“Yes,” he drawled, “Nothing screams ‘tasteful plots’ like comic book drama.”

She glared at him, barely suppressing the desire to punch him. “You should give it a chance.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but upon seeing the look he was receiving, thought better of it. After heaving a small sigh, he settled back into the couch and began to watch the show. Unfortunately, Sif was midway through rewatching the second season, so everything in terms of “beautiful plot/character development” would sail right over his head. She had half a mind to turn it off and start with the pilot episode, but didn’t think he’d care that much. Still, she was pleased that he didn’t make any snide comments or rude gestures. He asked a few questions, which Sif happily answered, but for the most part, he watched quietly.

When the credits began to roll, he sighed again. Sif took a bite of her pizza, and glanced at him sidelong. “What did you think?”

He was silent a moment, considering it. “It wasn’t _awful_ ,” he said carefully. “Some of it seemed a little… _lazy_ ; at least in terms of plot progression.”

Sif opened her mouth to object, but found that she couldn’t. “Yeah, I guess: it can get a little rushed and clichéd. _Gotham_ , though, is pretty solid.”

He gave her an amused smirk. “ _Gotham?_ As in Batman?”

She nodded and immediately began chattering about the amazingness that was _Gotham_ : the writing, the drama, the badass Fish Mooney, and the awesome Oswald Cobblepot. Her rambling evolved from _Gotham_ to comparing it to the Batman comics, and then somehow to the promising new season of _The Flash_ , which she was desperately waiting for. After a few minutes, she realized she had just been yammering away, and glanced at Loki who was beside himself with amusement.

“I had no idea you were into comics,” he chuckled. “I never thought you’d turn out to be a classic geek.”

Lifting her nose in the air, she gave him a haughty grin. “I guess you could consider it my quirk.”

His face brightened in the way that made butterflies flutter in her stomach. That boy had the disposition to start interplanetary wars in a New York minute, but had a smile that could end it in half a second. She could tell he was a dangerous one…

It must have slipped her notice, but they eventually migrated closer together so their legs were touching. He smiled down at her, and smoothly rested his arm around her shoulders. Sif’s cheeks began to hurt from smiling so much. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer, and planted a kiss on the side of her head. Ugh, the butterflies were combusting one by one, and heating her body up. The feelings she got from him were so intense, so new, and so welcomed.

He checked his phone to read a text message he received. After he read it, he snorted and dropped it back in his pocket. “What’s wrong,” Sif asked.

“Amora apparently got word I’ve quit,” he said, rather amused. “She had a few choice words for me.”

Sif’s blood ran thick. What would happen when Amora found out about her and Loki? If she freaked out so much just at the idea of them together, Sif dreaded what would happen when Amora’s suspicions were confirmed. To be fair, nothing was happening when they fought, but something told Sif that Amora really wasn’t the understanding type. That worry was for a different day, though.

“Are you hungry,” Sif asked, suddenly remembering she had rudely been eating in front of him.

“I believe your father insisted on making me the ‘garbage pizza’ again when I came in.” An appreciative smile touched his lips. Sif was thrilled that Loki didn’t think her father was strange; and if he did, he at least made it seem like he found it endearing, rather than embarrassing.

“Any excuse to make another damned pizza,” she mumbled around a smile.

Loki shrugged. “I don’t mind. I make out like a bandit.”

Their eyes locked, and Sif felt that enticing pull towards him. The edges of his face softened as he dipped his neck to kiss her kindly on the lips. Sif was smiling before he pulled away. “God, do you ever not smile,” he tried to sound scathing, but he chuckled too warmly to pull off asshole in this instance.

“Would you prefer me raging,” she challenged.

Shaking his head, he pulled playfully at her hair. “No, I much prefer you smiling.” They kissed again, only this time evolving into a series of more passionate kisses. She shifted to face him, while he moved closer, and encircled her in his arms. The next episode of _Arrow_ began to play, but Sif didn’t care. In fact, she kind of enjoyed the badass soundtrack playing in the background as she made out with Loki. However, pausing it would have enabled them to hear her father walking down the stairs with the pizza…

Tyr coughed loudly when he saw them, causing them to fly apart. If Sif hadn’t mortified by being caught in an intimate moment with him, she would have laughed her ass off at the obvious discomfort Loki was in. What little color he had drained from his face, and every inch of him became rigid. He attempted to play it off, but her father was too much of an intimidating man.

“Garbage pizza up,” Tyr said awkwardly as he placed the pizza on the table and walked away quickly. They were still sitting like stone when the basement door clicked shut. Both were too afraid to move; it was almost as if they had to repent for their fervor by remaining as still as possible, without making any eye contact whatsoever. After a minute or so, Sif couldn’t help it any longer and started to laugh.

“I fail to see what’s so funny, Sif,” Loki snapped as he tried to compose himself.

“The look on your face,” she howled, “You looked like you were about to die!”

He muttered something like “well have you met your father?” or something to that effect, but Sif was too busy laughing. Loki was far from amused, and defaulted to a curmudgeonly disposition. She rolled her eyes at his sourness, helped herself to another slice of pizza, and settled back in for another episode of _Arrow_. She cozied up beside Loki, which earned her an annoyed grunt or two as she got comfortable. He eventually chilled out. After he got settled with a few slices of his own, he draped his arm once more around Sif.

They rested against each other for a few hours, intermittently changing focus from the TV to each other. When they weren’t making out or watching _Arrow_ , they talked. Sif mentioned she was scared for her surgery coming up. Loki grabbed her hand, assuring her that everything would be fine, and he would visit her if she’d like. Of course she rolled her eyes and told him not to be stupid, but when the faintest glimmer of hurt passed over his face, Sif rescinded, and expected him to be there with a truckload of flowers.

“Now, my fair'st friend,” he said in his best romantic voice, which sounded super cheesy-queso to Sif, “I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might become your time of day.” He picked up her hand and pressed the lightest kiss to her knuckle. Swatting at him for his ridiculousness, Sif laughed and called him a drama king. He feigned offense, and attacked her by tickling her ribs. She shrieked, trying to push him away, but he persisted until she threatened to pee. Loki grinned in smug victory, and Sif, despite appearing petulant, was soaring in the clouds.

It astounded Sif to be in the situation she was in. Not four months ago, she hated the guy’s guts: all he was to her was her best friend’s asshole of a little brother. Sif couldn’t pinpoint where things changed; she couldn’t tell when her feelings for him became obvious. Shit, half of her was probably still in denial that they had made out in his car the night before, and were now snuggling on her couch watching her favorite TV show. But it was real—Loki was real, and his affections for her were painfully transparent.

Never did she expect that Loki would be capable of being kind. After all the bitchy pranks he pulled on her and her friends over the years, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he turned out to be an insidious sociopath with an ID Discovery special detailing his heinous crimes. Though he had asshole tendencies, and was a bit—well, a major—elitist, Sif couldn’t deny he treated her well. She felt special when he gave her his undivided attention, almost like she was the only one in the world he wanted to focus on. Now that she thought about it, it wasn’t surprising at all that he had managed to have past relationships. He was a good guy.

Loki left sometime around midnight. He helped her up the stairs, making sure that he didn’t carry too much of her weight (God forbid Sif felt like she was being taken care of). He planted another gentle, but intense kiss at the door. A moment passed in which he just studied her, his soft eyes speaking things Sif couldn’t understand. He then collected himself, wished her a lovely night, and said he’d call her tomorrow. Sif watched him from the doorway until he drove away, then softly closed the door.

Feeling dreamy, she hobbled into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before going to bed. Her mother was in there pouring a glass of milk to accompany the cookie she had waiting on the counter. Sif schooled her features, trying her best to look as normal as possible. The air was thick in that way a room gets when a mother had something to say, but was debating whether or not to risk angering her

teenaged daughter. Sif resisted the urge to provoke her, and drank a glass of water before filling it up again.

He mother leaned against the counter, sipping her milk and taking dainty bites of her cookie. Her eyes were musical as she watched Sif. If there was anything Sif hated the most in the world, it was being stared at. She cast her mother a withering glare. “What,” she snapped.

Her mother simply chuckled. “Told you so.”

Sif stared in stunned silence as her mother exited the kitchen laughing to herself. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment. Correction: the only thing she hated more than being stared at, was her mother feeling validated for predicting Sif’s future. Grumbling, she took her cup of water and hobbled up to bed.

As she lay there staring at her Christmas lights and trying to sleep, she thought about the last four months, the growth she experienced, and the things she learned. She thought about Loki, hoping he was as excited for this new _thing_ as she was, and she thought about the future. Her college application deadlines were knocking at her door, surgery was a looming monster in on the horizon, and her future athletic career waited in limbo. The future made her anxious, like crawling out of her skin and running far away.

She preferred to think about the present: the warmth of her bed and the lightness of her heart. Tomorrow was as far ahead as she could think without getting hives, and tomorrow would be glorious; a day filled by sneaking onto Skyrim Online, hopefully with her best friends, without her parents finding out. Sif had slain dragons in her past, and she was itching to slay hundreds more.


End file.
